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smileysuh · 2 months ago

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no face

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, mutual masterbation, mention of cam shows/watching cam shows, extreme dirty talk, alter ago dom cam boy Wonwoo, pussy eating oral, multiple reader orgasms, overstimulation, praise, encouragement, multiple sex scenes, fingering, body/breast worship, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k

🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This is part 1 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and Mingyu will be in June. As soon as all 3 are up, a masterlist will be created, which will then be linked here.

Prologue:

You never thought you’d be the type of girl to enjoy watching men get off through a computer. But then someone had recommended a cam boy to you, and one video had hooked you unlike anything else.

Being in university isn’t easy. It’s stress on stress on more stress and then a little bit extra stress just to round things out- and sometimes, a girl just has to get her rocks off without worries.

To you, cam boy No Face is the perfect distraction.

This faceless man, who usually films from the shoulders down. There’s something so specific and endearing about him. His pretty veiny hands, forearms showed off by black compression shirts with the sleeves rolled up-

His sounds are also like heaven, and sometimes you close your eyes and just listen to him, imagining he’s the one getting you off.

People talk about the dangers of porn, but fuck it, being a tad addicted to No Face is your own kind of dark chocolate and red wine, and no one is going to make you feel bad about needing an outlet for your pent up sexual energy.

He’s a gamer too, a faceless one the likes of Corpse Husband and Dream (before the face reveal of course), and you love the fact that he’s multidimensional.

When you’re studying, his gaming streams are in the background, and when you’re done studying and ready to reward yourself, it’s straight to his OnlyFans.

Recently, he’s taken to wearing a neon blue accented purge face mask, and you love the way his dark curls obscure around the plastic.

He’s a handsome man, you can just feel it in your bones, and you can feel your orgasm roll through every inch of your entire body every time you cum with the help of No Face.

One:

History classes can be a bit of a bore at times, and as someone of a recluse, you don’t get the joy of friendly chats with other girlies. No, history is your solitary work load, which is why you’re dreading the group project that’s being set up today.

The teacher gives students the benefit of choosing their own partners. This isn’t high school, and your professor knows most people already have connections that work well for this sort of thing… most people.

You look around as people pair up, and you feel like there’s a frog in your throat. You don’t have it within you to make that leap, to ask someone to be your partner-

Which is when you notice the other antisocial person who sits at the back of the class. He’s handsome, with an angular bone structure. You’ve never once seen him smile, and that mirrored recluse nature throws you off a bit.

To make matters worse, he has dark curly hair, just like your No Face, and everytime you look at him, your mind conjures up whispered words of encouragement to throw you over the edge, and your panties get wet in history, which is a very inopportune time to be getting horny if you’re honest with yourself.

His eyes meet yours, and you immediately look away, but you can sense him standing up to talk to you.

“Do you have a partner?” he asks.

“Uh… not really.”

“Me neither.”

There’s an xawkward silence for a moment, and then you release a sigh, looking up at him. “So… should we do the project together.”

“Guess that makes sense.” He nods.

You tell him your name, and he introduces himself as Jeon Wonwoo. You exchange details and as he speaks, there’s something even more familiar about him, but you brush it off.

“So… when are you free?” Wonwoo asks, pulling you out of your daze.

“I could do the library after my last class ends, let’s say four oclock?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Two:

Wonwoo is easy enough to work with. He’s not very opinionated, and he has let you choose what topic you wanted to work on for your project. Now, the two of you are getting preliminary readings out of the way, looking into the online research that would provide the backbone of your argument for the essay portion.

You find yourself looking at him very frequently, after all, he’s a striking man, and you’re a horny girl who has been so busy doing university courses that you haven’t had the time to get laid in forever.

Your gaze dips, and you stare at his hands as he toys with his pencil. It must be some sort of anxiety calming repetitive behaviour, the way he flicks it, traces his thumb and pointer down the wood, then flicks it again.

As you’re looking at him, you notice the details of his fingers.

Although No Face’s cock is significantly - significantly - bigger than this tiny pencil, the phalic shape is the same. You’ve watched so many No Face videos, and Wonwoo’s fingers are undeniably the same as your favourite cam boy’s.

You feel like you’ve choked on air, and you look up at Wonwoo, imagining him with that neon blue purge mask.

He’s got the dark hair, the curls- he’s even wearing a black compression shirt today.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, drawing his attention immediately.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, fuck, uh-” You look away, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “It’s just hot in here.”

Wonwoo simply gazes at you, and you find yourself standing up.

“I’m just going to pop outside for some air,” you tell him, not even waiting for a response as you grab your phone and dart away.

It’s only once you’re under the blue sky, feeling the cool air against your skin, that you’re able to take a moment.

You’re in a group project with your favourite gamer boy OnlyFans model, and you’re going to have to pretend as if you haven’t cum to his videos countless times.

If this is how you’re going to react every time he’s around - skin heating, heart racing, hands getting clammy - well, you’re in deep shit.

Three:

“No, I swear to God, Tina, my history project partner is No Face!”

Your friend is silent for a moment, simply watching you. “But like… how sure?”

“Tina!” You narrow your eyes at her with exasperation. “You know I watch him religiously!”

Tina nods. “I mean… there are rumours that some of the Sigma Veta Tau frat guys are into the whole cam thing, some of the sororities too.”

“Rumours?”

“Nothing confirmed, obviously, if any of them are in on that whole OnlyFans world, they’re smart enough to not show their faces.” Tina releases a sigh. “There’s a frat party tomorrow at SVT actually, maybe… we should go and I can see Wonwoo for myself.”

“Okay, but! Tina, I’m calling dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs! I showed him to you!” Tina argues.

“This isn’t time for girl code or anything else, I know you watch multiple streamers- No Face is the only one I watch, no one else has ever interested me. And I’m the one who made the connection! Tina, for real. Please.”

She releases a deep groan. “Fuck it. Fine. I guess. But if he hits on me, I’m going for it.”

“I guess you’re wearing a full sweater and showing no skin at the party tomorrow then.”

Four:

Wonwoo’s shocked to see you at his frat for a party. From being in classes with you for the first part of term, he’s pegged you as a shy and quiet type, much like himself. All month, he’s never seen you speak to anyone. You show up, take your seat at the very back of the room, and don’t open your mouth for anything.

Luckily for Wonwoo, he’s into the shy and quiet type. While his best friends are loud and boisterous, he could never see himself with a party girl, which is why he doesn’t have much of a social battery for being at his frat parties for longer than absolutely necessary.

Mingyu - the aforementioned loud and boisterous best friend - is next to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo can feel his gaze.

“Are you checking out that girl?” Mingyu asks.

“I have a class project with her,” Wonwoo responds casually, sipping his beer.

“She’s cute.”

Wonwoo simply shrugs, not wanting to divulge too deeply into his interest of you just yet. He’s a careful type, and with his scandalous online alter ego, he has to be.

“You should go get her a drink,” Mingyu continues.

“She’ll be fine.”

“If you don’t get her one, I will.”

Now Wonwoo turns to look at his friend, and the challenging gaze he receives in return makes him sigh. “Fine.”

“That’s my boy!” Mingyu grins, clapping Wonwoo on the back.

Despite Wonwoo’s confident persona online, he doesn’t have much experience with women. He’d gotten into the gaming scene first, learned how to be social and how to talk to followers of all types. Somehow that had translated to making an OnlyFans.

Choi Seungcheol, frat president, had seen his follower number on Twitch, and had suggested the creation of OnlyFans. Sex sells, and the business major had run the numbers. Cheol had broken down that if even one percent of Wonwoo’s following made the transfer to OnlyFans, Wonwoo could be making serious bank every month.

Both men were shocked to find a whopping five percent of Wonwoo’s followers had initially made the move with him to OnlyFans, and since then, that number has only grown.

Wonwoo tries to channel that confidence as he approaches you, and he kind of likes the way you jump when he gently touches your elbow to gain your attention.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond, eyes wide. You look like a frozen deer, caught in headlights, and Wonwoo’s not sure if he wants to swerve, or hit this whole thing with full force.

“Want a drink?”

You nod, and Wonwoo leads you to the kitchen, where he finds you a beer.

“I’ve never seen you at one of these things,” he notes, stepping closer to you so you can hear each other over the loud music.

“I’ve never been to one,” you admit.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Wonwoo asks next, although, he suspects he already knows the answer.

“Uh… it’s loud.”

“Do you want to move somewhere quieter?”

He notes the way you swallow thickly, the way your pupils blow- but you nod, and Wonwoo once again grabs your arm to gently lead you to a different destination in the house.

His room is on the third floor, and he’s one of the lucky few that doesn’t have a roommate. The sound dies down significantly as soon as the door is shut behind the both of you, and Wonwoo welcomes the reprieve.

“I like your set up,” you tell him, looking around at all the neon blue and the PC set up.

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a gaming fan.”

“I can see that.” You’re quiet for a moment, and then you ask, “What are your favourite games to play?”

“Call of Duty is fun, League of Legends, Fortnite, all the usual ones,” he responds, moving toward his bed, where he takes a seat.

“Ah, right.” You nod, taking a sip of your beer.

“Do you game?”

“I watch gamers more than I play, you know, something to have on in the background while I study.” Your eyes meet, and you quickly look away.

There’s something in your body language that is throwing Wonwoo off, and the fact that you’ve just mentioned you watch streamers is a bit of an indicator that things might not be all that they seem with you.

Could you know who he is?

Was bringing you up here a mistake?

If you’ve ever seen one of his Twitch streams, will you be able to make the connection between him and the room?

It’s not like his streams show a lot of the room, but they show enough- and neon blue is a bit of a signature colour of his.

Neither of you say anything, and then you take a quick breath. “Anyways, I’m here with my friend Tina, and she’s probably wondering where I am-”

“You should get back to it then,” Wonwoo tells you.

“Yeah. But uh… we’re still on for our library study thing on Monday, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Five:

When No Face puts up a new video on his OnlyFans, you take the opportunity to get a better look at his bedroom.

Two seconds into the video you’re convinced that your quiet history partner is, in fact, the notorious faceless gamer turned cam boy, and it makes your stomach turn into knots.

Is it bad to keep watching this, knowing what you now know?

Is it… disrespectful to Wonwoo to be watching him? To have your hand slowly snaking into your pants as your pussy gets wetter by the second?

Do you have any chance with him?

Is this whole thing a dream?

You’ve been obsessed with one gamer/cam boy in your life, and suddenly he’s your history partner?

You thank whatever God is out there for this coincidental and miraculous turn of events, and you let out a breath as you begin to toy with your clit, relaxing against your pillows.

No Face has such a pretty cock. It’s the perfect size, and it looks even better with his long, slender fingers wrapped around it.

You listen to his quiet moans, and they urge you to echo them as you masturbate in your room.

Wonwoo’s only ever filmed himself. He’s a strictly solo man… there’s a possibility you have a chance with him romantically - or maybe even just sexually. If he gives you any chance at all, you’ll take it, everything else be damned.

Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge.

Six:

You need at least one citation from a physical book for your report, so today, you and Wonwoo are perusing amongst the shelves, searching for a few titles you have identified for possible quotes.

Your heart is racing just from being near Wonwoo, and you sense his gaze more often than not.

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks.

“Hmm?”

“You’re quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet,” you retort… quietly.

Wonwoo releases a chuckle, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him smile. The sight of his pretty pearly whites, the sharp canines, the way his eyes crinkle- it has your stomach erupting with butterflies.

“More quiet than usual,” Wonwoo corrects himself.

“I think you’re more talkative than usual,” you point out.

“Maybe.”

You take a breath, wondering if you should tell him that you know who he is.

If you tell him, it’s an admission that you’ve seen his Twitch or his OnlyFans- and you wonder if that will make him uncomfortable.

The two of you are quiet for another couple of minutes, but finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m just going to say it,” you blurt out, drawing his eyes. “I know who you are.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re No Face, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo is quiet.

A groan escapes you. “Fuck, this whole thing is so uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have said anything, because now it’s going to make you uncomfortable-”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he interjects.

“You’re not?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Just wondering which platform you’ve watched me on.”

Your heart lurches violently in your chest, and your throat all but closes up again. You choke a little on your response. “I, uh- I-”

“I’m guessing both,” Wonwoo concludes.

You’re gaze moves down the floor immediately, that familiar heat blooming through your skin, a sign of the embarrassment that surges through you.

“It’s kind of hot that you’ve watched me before,” Wonwoo sighs. “How could you tell it was me?”

“Your hands,” you say meekly.

“My hands?” You can hear the shock in his voice. “Wow, you must watch me a lot.”

“I do,” another half whimpered response, an embarrassed admittance of your cam boy loving ways.

“Don’t be shy about it,” Wonwoo tells you, and he steps closer. You instinctively move back, only for your shoulders to bump into the shelves behind you. It’s interesting how suddenly your history partner has changed from shy boy Wonwoo, to confident cam boy No Face, and you can feel your core getting wetter with each tension fueled moment. “I appreciate you being transparent with me.”

You finally look up at him, and you catch Wonwoo’s gaze dip to your lips.

Before you can even register what’s happening, Wonwoo is leaning in, and your body reacts on it’s own accord.

Your arms throw themselves around the back of his neck, and you press your lips to his. Your chests meet as Wonwoo wraps you in his embrace, his mouth hot as it moves on your own. He pushes you back against the shelves and you can’t even find it within yourself to care that you’re making out with him in a library.

There’s no shame as you make out with Wonwoo, accepting his tongue into your mouth with a delighted groan, there’s only intense pleasure, and an ecstasy like feeling of absolute elatedness that you’ve never experienced in your whole life.

Then- a sound in the periphery of your surroundings makes you jump, and you pull away from Wonwoo, looking around wildly.

“Shit,” you whisper, tearing yourself out of his embrace. “This was- uh, that was- um… I have to go!”

You find yourself running away, and you’re not even sure why. All you know is that you’re completely overwhelmed, and once again, being in the presence of the notorious No Face has you needing air like a fish out of water needs H2O.

Seven:

You shouldn’t be shocked when Wonwoo sits next to you in history class. He doesn’t say anything, but half way through the seminar, his hand moves to your knee.

Your heart is racing in your chest, a mix of anxiety and excitement. He hasn’t reached out to you since you ran away from him in the library, and you have no idea where you stand with him, so instead, you just stare at his hand.

There’s this general sense that you both deeply want each other, and it distracts you all the way until class is over.

As students stand up around you, hurrying to their next engagements, you turn to look at Wonwoo.

“What are we doing?”

“A project.”

“You know what I mean,” you sigh.

“We’re doing whatever you want.”

“Okay,” you take a breath. “But I’m shy, I don’t normally do hookups, and-”

“I don’t do hookups either.”

“You don’t?”

“There’s a reason I do solos,” Wonwoo points out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“Does the whole No Face thing bug you?” he enquires.

“Not really,” you admit. “I mean, in this day and age, most people have done it. Not me, but, you know, most people.”

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, then it dies down. “So… do you want to be there for my next stream? You know, sitting behind the camera, watching?”

You swear it’s as if there’s a flood in your panties, and your heart leaps like a professional olympic high jumper.

“Yes,” you squeak.

Wonwoo smiles broadly. “This will be fun.”

Eight:

You’re sitting on Wonwoo’s bed, body tense with anticipation.

His camera is set up, and it’s the only thing between the two of you as he lounges in his gaming chair.

The neon blue purge mask is obscuring his features, but you can feel his eyes on you. He’s hit the record button, and you’re committed to being a silent watcher as Wonwoo visibly slips into his No Face alter ego.

There’s something about the way his shoulders drop, the way he tilts his head back, exposing his pretty throat as he gets comfortable in the chair.

Wonwoo’s hand drops down to the front of his pants, and he palms himself gently, releasing a sigh.

“Feels good,” he muses, voice deeper than it usually is in every day life. “Wish it was your hands touching me though.”

Your body tingles with the realization he’s talking to you. Sure, he dirty talks for his shows all the time, but today, it’s different.

Today, No Face is literally talking directly to you, but all his words will be eaten up by his subscribers too. It’s your very own personal cam show, and no one else ever has to know.

“Are you going to get started too, baby?” Wonwoo asks. “I can’t be the only one getting off, and we both know you’re here watching this because you want something in return. So don’t be shy.”

You swallow thickly, heart racing in your chest.

“How about this, I strip tease for you, and in return, you get yourself ready for me?” he suggests.

It’s almost hard to breathe now, but you nod, staring directly at Wonwoo. You know his eyes are on you. At this point, it’s clear he’s ignoring the camera completely, but with his face obscured by the mask, his subscribers will be none the wiser to the true event taking place.

Wonwoo starts by gently lifting up his shirt, exposing hard abs and a lean muscled body that has your core already throbbing with need.

Compression shirts are part of his brand, so Wonwoo stops the teasing there, hands instead dropping to the belt of his black jeans. He’s slow with undoing it, slow with the way his long fingers toy with his button and zipper.

He releases a sigh as he lifts his hips, pushing his pants down to his knees. His thighs bulge where they press against the black leather of his gaming chair, but the bulge in his underwear is even bigger, and it makes you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes stay glued to every motion.

“Come on, baby, be good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, and it snaps you out of your trance.

You realize you need to be doing something too- that’s the whole intrigue of this. Wonwoo gets off on camera, and you get off behind it. Mutual masturbation, in the sexiest possible form.

Truly no hands on, just self gratification while watching the other pleasure themself.

You remove your shirt, and Wonwoo lets out a groan. “That’s it.”

Deciding to keep your bra on for now, your hands slip to your own pants, and you carefully take them off.

“Want to see you,” Wonwoo says, palming himself through his underwear.

Your hands are shaking as you remove your panties, body alight with energy. It’s not shyness per se- more like shock that you’re even in this situation.

You want it, so fucking bad, but it’s a truly difficult thing to wrap your head around. This situation is unlike anything you could have imagined in your wildest dreams, and you’ve never been more turned on in your entire life.

You’re now bare on your lower half, and you relax against the bed, lifting your legs so your feet are on the mattress, your pussy spread for Wonwoo.

He releases another deep groan, shifting his own underwear down.

His beautiful cock slaps up against his stomach, and he immediately wraps a hand around it.

There’s a bottle of lube next to him, and you watch him spurt some onto his palm, when he brings it to his cock again, you begin to touch your pussy.

You start with your clit, drawing slow cirlces while Wonwoo strokes himself, matching your pace.

“Mmm, that’s good,” Wonwoo muses, relaxing back against his gaming chair. His head lolls back, but you know his eyes are still entirely focused on you. “I know you’re feeling good too, aren’t you, baby?”

Since he’s on camera, you know you can’t make a sound, but you nod aggressively, swallowing the lump in your throat as you apply more pressure to your clit.

“That’s it, rub harder,” Wonwoo encourages you. “Bet you’re all nice and wet for me already, huh?”

It’s hard to hold in the moan that threatens to escape you, but you nod again, biting your lip to force yourself not to make a sound.

“I can just imagine your mouth on my cock, sucking me so good,” Wonwoo says. “How I’d grab your hair and help you find a rhythm. Bet you’d kind of love choking on it, love the way tears roll down your cheeks as I use you.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you rub your clit even harder, the knots in your stomach tightening deliciously.

“When you got me to the edge, I’d switch things up. I’d lay you down on the bed, eating you out until you cum on my tongue, until your thighs are shaking around my head. I’d hold you down too, because I know you’d like that. Something tells me you want to be dominated, and I could show you what that’s like.”

It’s as if he’s read your mind, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Once you’re good and ready, I’d finally give you my cock,” Wonwoo groans, increasing the pace of his strokes along his length. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love to have me spreading open your insides and fucking you stupid.”

Your breathing is shaky as you rub your clit, your heart racing in your chest. Your eyes close a little as you focus on the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that’s beginning to blossom inside of you.

“I think you should slip a finger in, baby, imagine it’s mine.”

Your eyes snap open again as you stare at him.

“Come on, do as I say.”

With a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to your core, slipping one into your obscenely wet hole.

“Hmm, that’s it,” Wonwoo groans. “Bet you wish it was bigger though, huh?”

You nod, biting your lip even harder in an effort to control yourself.

“Add another finger then. They’re still not as big as mine, but you can dream, right?”

God, you were not mentally prepared for this.

To be the sole focus of No Face is the most sinfully wonderful thing you could ever experience, and the way your body reacts to his commands- following through without your mind even registering it now-

Wonwoo has you in a daze, and you kind of love it.

“Fuck that pussy with those tiny fingers, baby,” Wonwoo encourages you. “I wanna hear it.”

You’re so wet you’re almost afraid his camera will be able to pick up the sound of your squelching pussy, but fuck it- he’s given you a command so you’ll follow through.

“That’s it, feels good, huh?”

You can see he’s stroking his cock harder, and it makes your mouth begin to salivate as you watch.

“Do you think you’re close, baby?” Wonwoo asks.

You nod.

“I’m close too, something about this has me hornier than usual. Thinking about tasting you, about fucking you with my fingers then railing you with my cock- you’re doing something to me, baby, and I know I’m doing something to you too.”

You nod again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Rub your clit again, want to watch you cum for me.”

You do as he says, and you bite hard on your lip again, throwing your head back, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling.

Wonwoo begins to moan as he watches you, and you’ve seen enough videos of his to know that this is a sign he’s near the edge too.

You can hear the wet slapping of his lubed hand now, and you know he’s beating himself off hard and fast- you bet he wishes it was your pussy on his cock right now, and it makes your toes curl again as you get closer and closer to your own high.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Wonwoo moans. “Come on, you can cum for me.”

You nod, muscles tightening to an impossible limit-

“That’s it, that’s it-”

Wonwoo’s encouragement throws you over the edge and you fall backward onto his bed, grabbing a pillow to put over your face, muffling your moans as your orgasm washes through you.

Your whole body is throbbing with sexual energy, thighs already shaking as you continue to rub yourself through it- having not received a command that you could stop.

You pray to God that the pillow is enough to muffle your sounds, because the whimpers escaping you are no longer something you can keep in- especially when Wonwoo releases a grunt of his own, a sign that he’s cum too.

A shiver of tingles errupts through you at the notion that he’s tipped over the edge, that the two of you have cum together in a situation like this.

Your mind is practically blank except for this moment, and as your orgasm dies down, you can’t ignore the racing of your heart in your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo groans, voice drawing you back to reality.

You move the pillow away, pulling your hand from your core as you sit up again, blinking at Wonwoo.

He’s cum all over his chest, and it’s a big load too- fuck, part of you wants to just lick it up.

“You were a good girl for me tonight,” Wonwoo says. “Such a good girl.”

He’s gently toying with his cock still, but finally he stops, and after a deep sigh, he turns off the camera.

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, and once Wonwoo has the cap back on his camera’s lens, he pulls off his mask.

His skin is flushed, and he looks absolutely beautiful. There’s nothing like a post orgasmic glow to bring light to someone’s eyes.

“You good?” he asks, voice returning to its normal tone.

“That was amazing,” you whisper.

“I can’t believe you’re seriously okay with all of this,” Wonwoo admits with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly curls before reaching for some tissue to begin wiping up his mess.

“I am.”

He chuckles. “I can tell you’re overwhelmed though.”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, anticipation bubbling through you.

“I think it’s best if we call it a night.” Wonwoo says, and something sinks within your chest at his words. “I want to fuck you, I do, but… I want to give you time to think about all of this.”

“I have thought about all of this,” you counter.

“You’ve thought about fucking No Face, but off camera, I’m just Wonwoo, and I don’t want you to be disappointed with… the reality of me. No Face is a persona, and I need to know you understand that.”

You consider his words, and nod. “I’ll spend some time thinking about all of this.”

“But we’re still on for studying in a couple of days, right?”

“Regardless of us, we have a project to finish,” you nod.

Wonwoo smiles. “Thanks for coming today, it made a difference.”

Nine:

The two of you are studying in Wonwoo’s room, and as hours pass by, it’s getting harder and harder for you to focus.

There’s a tension in the space that you could cut with a knife, and your panties have been wet since you arrived.

In the past couple of days, you’ve given the whole situation a lot of thought… and you may have rewatched the camshow you did with him about a hundred times too.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, putting your laptop to the side.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to talk to you about us.”

He gives you space to continue and you take a breath.

“I know that the whole No Face thing is a persona, and while he’s not you, he’s still part of you. Despite that, I like who you are too. You’re calm, and smart, and level-headed- and respectful too. Most men wouldn’t have done what we did and let me go home to process the situation. You could tell I was overwhelmed and you didn’t take advantage of me, which shows you’re respectful too. I think… you and I are kindred souls, and I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better, the real you, not No Face.”

Wonwoo nods, and you can tell he’s thinking about what you’ve just said. “I want to know you better too. I never thought I’d find a cute, shy girl who would be okay with the whole OnlyFans thing. You’re quiet, but you’re kinky, like me, and I really like that.”

Your skin heats at his words, and a smile works its way onto your lips.

“Doing this project has been great,” Wonwoo continues. “We work well together, and yeah… I like you a lot. I want to give it a try too.”

“Good.” You take a breath, sitting up to move closer to him. “So… I think we’ve done enough studying, don’t you?”

Wonwoo chuckles. “Feeling needy, huh?”

“You’ve got a half chub already, so don’t talk to me about feeling needy,” you tease with a grin.

“Talking back, are you?”

“You said it yourself, you’re not No Face, you’re Wonwoo. No Face is a dominant, but Wonwoo… I’m getting vibes from you that you’re something else.”

He cocks his head to the side, looking at you with a smile. “I guess you know the real me better than I realized.”

“You talk a big game about being a dominant on cam, but… my guess is you’re softer in person, softer like this.” You reach out to stroke his face, and Wonwoo leans into your palm.

“Are you okay with soft?”

“I’m okay with a mixture,” you tell him. “Whatever feels right in the moment.”

“Part of me wants to fuck the shit out of you,” Wonwoo notes. “But… as a first time, another part of me wants to just be nice.”

“Then be nice, you can be rough later, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“You better.”

You move his laptop out of the way, swinging your leg over his hips so you can mount him where he’s seated on the bed.

His hands find your waist, and he looks up at you. God, he truly is so beautiful.

You’ve kissed him before in the library, but that had been all fire, all passion, all pent up tension- as you lean down to press your lips to his now, you get the sense that everything about this interaction will be softer.

He’s not playing off as his alter ego, he knows you accept the real him, that you want to experience Wonwoo tonight, not No Face.

As amazing as No Face was, you don’t want him to think that’s all you’re here for.

He kisses you gently, one hand moving up to cup your cheek. His tongue is tentative as it runs along your bottom lip, asking for entry instead of demanding it.

You tilt your head a little to make things easier as the kiss deepens, his fingers digging into your hip.

You begin to grind down against him, enjoying the pressure on your clit. He’s already hard, and you know he wants this as badly as you do, which lights a fire in the pit of your stomach.

With one movement, Wonwoo has you both rolling, and you end up with your back pressed to the bed, Wonwoo on top of you.

Now it’s his turn to grind down against you, and you kiss him harder, whimpering against his lips.

One of his hands snakes up to your breast, and he squeezes you through your shirt, groaning at the way you fit in his palm.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.

“You can do anything you want,” you assure him, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and then the swell of your cleavage. You throw your head back, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation.

He’s gentle when he removes your shirt, followed quickly by your bra, and then his mouth is on your chest again. His lips are soft as they suck on your nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in his curls as you enjoy the worship he’s providing you. Wonwoo takes his time with your breasts, and you can feel your pussy throbbing- you wonder if this is what blue balls feels like for men- this insatiable need to have attention on your core instead of the erogenous zone he’s currently enjoying.

Soon, Wonwoo’s mouth is moving down your body, and he slips onto the floor next to the bed. He takes off your pants and panties, moving slowly as if to give you time to change your mind.

But you’re not going to change your mind.

You want this more than you’ve ever wanted everything, and as he drags you to the edge of the bed, intent on eating your pussy like he’d talked about on cam, you give yourself over to him fully.

His hands massage your legs, and he peppers kisses up your calf, tickling your knee as he moves to your thighs.

Your legs adjust over his shoulders, and his hands grab at your hips as he leans in for his first lick of your pussy.

The contact of his tongue on your clit has you releasing a squeal of delight, your entire boy tingling with pleasure.

You can feel Wonwoo’s eyes on you as he begins to eat you out, his tongue pushing into your wet pussy before flicking back up to your sensitive bud again.

“Feels good!” you tell him, muscles already beginning to tighten with pleasure.

His fingers get a better grip on you, one hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he devours you.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s a sensation that has your entire body reacting, the cord in your stomach tightening even more-

No one has eaten you out in practically forever, and to be having a man worship you like this- it’s getting you closer to the edge, faster than anyone else before.

“Shit,” you whimper, tangling your fingers in his hair again, back arching as the pleasure begins to build.

Wonwoo doesn’t relent, he eats you out like a starved man, his eagerness only growing with each second-

Your whimpers are getting louder, the sensation building more and more-

“I’m gonna cum!” you announce, eyes clenching shut as you teeter on the edge-

Suddenly two fingers are slipping into your pussy, crooking up so his digits can touch your sweet spot, at the same time, he sucks roughly on your clit and that’s all it takes to make you cum.

You gasp, your orgasm exploding inside of you unlike any other.

It’s all consuming in the best possible way, your body throbbing with unknown pleasure.

Wonwoo continues to finger fuck you, working you through it as wave after wave of ecstasy consumes you.

Your clit is almost too sensitive now, your thighs shaking, muscles beginning to hurt from the power of your high.

“Fuck, Wonwoo-” you whimper, pushing at his head.

He pulls away from your clit, his fingers slowing inside of you, and you can feel his eyes.

“You good?” he asks.

“Fuck, that was so good-” you groan, another shiver erupting through you when he strokes your inner walls again. “Need more.”

“Need what?”

“Your cock,” you tell him. “Need it so bad.”

“I’ll grab a condom,” Wonwoo muses, pulling his fingers out of your pussy only to plop them into his mouth.

As he stands, you freeze. “Wait! I’m on birth control!”

He stops, looking down at you. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I’m on birth control, yes.”

“No, I mean, are you sure about unprotected sex?”

“Well… I’m clean,” you point out. “I haven’t had sex in forever-”

“Me neither,” he admits. “Other than, you know, sex with my own hand.”

You stare at him for a moment, and from the way he cracks a smile, you know he’s making a joke. So you begin to laugh too.

“How have we both not gotten laid in a while?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Guess we’re both pretty shy.”

“And school is busy,” you point out.

“School, gaming and OnlyFans is definitely a lot,” he agrees, pulling off his shirt then kicking down his pants. “Move up to the pillows for me, want you to be comfortable.”

You do as he says, watching eagerly as he gets fully naked for you.

God, his cock is even prettier up close, and you bite your tongue as he gets onto the bed with you. Your legs wrap around his hips instinctively, and you pull him in for a passionate kiss.

He begins to grind down against you, stimulating your oversensitive clit in a way that has you squealing with delight.

“I like your sounds,” Wonwoo muses, lips moving to your throat and ear, where he gently bites your lobe. “Was a shame I didn’t get to hear them during the cam show.”

“I tried to be good and quiet for you.”

“You were very good for me,” Wonwoo groans, voice dropping into the No Face cadence, which has your stomach flip flopping, pussy getting even wetter.

Wonwoo reaches between your bodies, adjusting the tip of his cock to your pussy. “You said you haven’t been fucked in a while,” he muses, “so if this hurts, or you need me to go slow, or stop-”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him, cupping his face. “Just fuck me, please.”

Wonwoo kisses you then, slowly pushing his rock hard cock into you as you whimper and claw at his shoulders.

He fills you so well- your inner walls finally receiving attention from a real sized cock after way too long.

Your fingers - hell, even his fingers - don’t do his full length justice, and it feels like heaven once he’s fully bottomed out.

You both release a low groan, your toes curling with pleasure.

“I’m good,” you tell him, pressing kisses to his throat as your fingers explore his broad shoulders. “Feels good.”

“You feel good,” he counters, beginning to move.

The drag of his cock along your core has you groaning, eyes closing as pleasure consumes you.

“Shit,” you whimper, holding him tighter.

“Shit,” Wonwoo echos again, picking up his pace.

You lay there, enjoying everything he’s giving you. As himself, Wonwoo’s not much of a talker, but you’re okay with that. The two of you simply gasp and moan as conversation, and you enjoy the feral aspect of sex, the part where you’re both overcome by the feeling of each other, so overcome that words aren’t even necessary.

Wonwoo presses his lips to yours again, kissing you fiercely as he fucks you harder and harder, until his bed is rocking and you’re scared people outside his door will be able to hear you moaning.

But part of you doesn’t even care, you don’t want to hold yourself back with Wonwoo anymore, not like you did when he was on cam. No, you want him to hear every whimper, every groan, every squeal of pleasure as he fucks you better than anyone else ever has.

There’s a connection here, a spark, and it lights a fire inside you as Wonwoo fucks you for the very first time.

It’s passionate as you remain lip locked, your hands grabbing at his strong shoulders.

You don’t even care that it’s clear this will be a one position fuck session. Missionary has always been one of the more boring ways to fuck, but with Wonwoo- it’s downright magical. There’s nothing like it, being pressed chest to chest- as close as you can be as you do this.

Wonwoo’s groans are magic too, and they have your pussy throbbing depserately around him-

Then he slips his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit-

Your pussy clamps down on him, a gasp escaping you as you break the kiss to look up at him.

“Want you to cum with me,” Wonwoo groans. “Please.”

You can’t respond, all you can do is focus on the building sensation- and in no time at all, you’re tipping over the edge with a loud moan.

Wonwoo returns your sound with a grunt, burying his face against your throat as he cums with you.

Your pussy throbs around him, milking Wonwoo of all he’s worth as he moans in your ear, fucking you through it all.

His hair is tickling your cheek, but you can’t even care as the orgasm swells through you like the waves of a warm summer ocean.

Your chests are still pressed together, and you can feel the beating of his heart. It’s almost dizzying, feeling this connected to another person, and it leaves your mind blank as you enjoy it.

Your arms are wrapped around him, cuddling Wonwoo close as his motions come to a stop, and then you just pant together, doing your best to catch your breaths.

You stroke his hair, releasing a deep sigh.

Wonwoo presses one last kiss to your throat before pulling away. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Perfect.”

Wonwoo grins. “Me too.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This was so fun to write, I can't wait to explore this au more in other chapters!

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🔮 preview. You know there will be no more rough housing, no more use of the paddle, because No Face might be somewhat of a sadist, but Wonwoo is a pussy whipped softie, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, foreplay, dirty talk, blow job, pussy eating, hand job, commanding/dominant alter ago Wonwoo, use of paddle, impact play, pain kink, fingering, slight sadism Wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of sex toys, creampie, etc… I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3k I teaser wc. 110

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You love Wonwoo. You love him for all that he is, No Face and all, and you also love that despite his online alter ego, he’s very soft and giving in bed. However… sometimes, you just want to be man handled and dirty talked until your head spins, and your lovely boyfriend is more than willing to provide that for you on special occasions.

Today is your birthday, and after you’re done classes, you go back to your apartment to shower and get ready.

You’ve bought a very sexy outfit. Garter connected fishnets, a black push-up bra, a corset, sexy high heels, and a thong to complete the whole look.

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#wonwoo #thediamondlifenetwork #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #wonwoo svt #svt wonwoo #wonwoo svt smut #svt wonwoo smut

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dakusan · 15 days ago

Text

N O S A I N T I N K

Tattoo Artist!Han Jisung x Reader | He tattoos like an artist and eats like a god. You're ruined. Congratulations.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You just wanted a tattoo. What you got was a cocky artist with a praise kink, a filthy mouth, and the ability to make you cum so hard you forget your name. What starts as innocent skin-on-skin becomes texts at 3AM, breathless calls, panties on the floor, and getting ruined over a tattoo chair by a man who calls his dick “emotionally supportive.”

💌a/n: HELLO DEMONS. welcome back to my sin bin. and YES. i spun the wheel of filth™ again because i have too many prompts, too many requests, too many ideas and i am ONE feral braincell away from combusting. this week’s winner of the roulette: jisung x reader, tattoo shop edition. hence why this was posted late — i had no idea what to write and then accidentally birthed a full plotline, two orgasms, a man with separation anxiety, and the best dick of your fictional life. oops 😇 p.s. reblog this or i will haunt your mirrors at 3AM whispering “dumb little slut” in han’s voice. p.p.s. if you message me your fave skz member, i might drop you a mini filthy tattoo artist!AU ficlet just for them. no promises. only threats. p.p.p.s. light a candle. hydrate. send this to a friend

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » MOVE — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:32 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Late afternoon, Seoul.

The sky is bruising purple with evening haze. You’re standing outside a tattoo parlour in a tucked-away alley—NO SAINT INK—recommended by a friend who said, “Go there. Ask for Han.”

You’re nervous. Not just because it’s your first tattoo—but because your stomach won’t stop twisting with that type of anticipation. The kind you feel when you know something irreversible is about to happen.

The parlour looks nothing like the industrial, hyper-masculine shops you've passed before. It’s dark, yes—but with soft underlighting. Neon signs buzz low in the windows, one glowing "SINNER'S HANDS" in deep red. Another in cursive:

“we only leave beautiful scars.”

You push the door open, bell jingling. It smells like antiseptic and incense. Lo-fi hip hop pulses from hidden speakers. The walls are matte black, scattered with flash art—some delicate, some obscene. A few erotic, one absolutely feral. You step toward the desk—

And then you see him.

Han Jisung.

Slouched in a leather chair behind the counter, legs spread wide, one hand holding a sketchpad, the other spinning a tattoo gun idly between his fingers like a toy.

Dark, slightly wavy hair. A few strands falling into his eyes. Rings on nearly every finger. One silver bar in his eyebrow. Another glinting on his lip.

He's wearing a sleeveless hoodie, arms covered in ink—some intricate, some scrawled like afterthoughts. His forearms flex as he shifts, glancing up at you lazily, and then—

Freeze.

He smirks. Not the kind of smirk you’re used to. This one slides slow across his face like silk on skin—cocky, amused, interested. He sets the sketchbook down and stands, sauntering over.

“You lost, angel?”

His voice is warm gravel. A little teasing. He’s already clocked you as a first-timer.

You swallow. “No. Um… I think I have an appointment? For 5PM?”

He leans against the counter, gloved hand flipping through the schedule.

“Name?”

You give it. He taps the page. “First ink?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

You nod.

His eyes drag down your form and back up again—like he’s marking you before the needle ever touches you. “Cute.”

A pause.

“Alright. You’re with me.”

The moment he leads you past the curtain, everything quiets. Not literally—there’s still the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing through overhead speakers, and you can hear the soft buzz of a machine in the next booth—but something in the air shifts. You’ve stepped into his space now.

The room is dim, intentionally so. Not cold or sterile, but intimate. The walls are painted a charcoal grey, with scattered framed sketches and flash art displayed like gallery pieces. A small desk against the back wall is cluttered with ink bottles, gloves, stencils, and scribbled notes on napkins. There’s a chair in the center—sleek black leather, mechanical levers gleaming faintly under the spotlight aimed above it. It's positioned deliberately beneath a halo of warm light, like a stage for sin.

Han gestures for you to sit.

You do, heart already hammering harder than you'd like to admit. Your hands grip the armrests automatically, more out of nerves than necessity.

He sanitizes his hands in silence, then slips on a pair of black nitrile gloves with practiced ease. The snap of the first one makes you flinch. He notices.

A flick of his mouth—half amusement, half something darker.

“So. You still sure about it?” he asks, voice calm but low, like smoke over velvet.

You nod, holding out the reference image you brought—a small, simple design. Meaningful. Something you’ve thought about for months. A delicate poppy, petals slightly unfurled…But at the base of the flower, instead of a regular stem, it grows from the open mouth of a tiny anatomical heart.

Han doesn’t look at the paper right away. His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer than they should. Then he takes it gently, fingers brushing yours through the gloves.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, gaze flicking from the paper to your face. “Subtle. Clean lines… this’ll look good on you.”

You try to smile, but your throat feels tight. “Thanks.”

“Where do you want it?”

You hesitate. Then, softly: “Ribcage.”

That earns you an arched brow and the barest flicker of a smirk.

“Shy spot. I like that,” he says, turning to prep his materials. You watch the muscles shift as he reaches for a stencil pad. “Okay, shirt off. Just what you need, nothing more. I won’t bite.”

You freeze.

He pauses for a beat. Then tilts his head, eyes crinkling slightly. “Unless you beg,” he adds with a wink.

Your cheeks go hot. You laugh—nervously. It feels like your skin is already burning.

You carefully lift your shirt just high enough to expose the side of your torso, tugging the fabric over your bra, folding it under your arm to keep it out of the way. You're acutely aware of how much skin you're showing—even more so under that bright, direct light.

He kneels beside you with the stencil, gaze focused. You expect him to avoid eye contact, to be clinical—but Han is anything but.

His fingers brush your waist, and they stay there, warm through the gloves. His hand spreads slightly, holding your skin steady as he gently presses the cool stencil to your ribs.

“Breathe for me, yeah?” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a crooked smile. “I’m gonna press it right here…”

You suck in a breath, chest rising.

He places the stencil deliberately. Slowly. His face is close—close enough that you can see the curve of his lashes, the faint sheen of gloss on his lip ring. You smell cedar and musk on his hoodie. His fingers flex slightly against your side.

He looks up.

“You’re already twitchy,” he says softly, voice dropping just enough to make you forget how to breathe. “Gonna be a fun ride.”

You don’t know if he means the tattoo. And neither does he.

He stands and moves to the table beside him, switching out tools like it’s second nature. The machine buzzes to life with a sharp mechanical hum.

You tense.

He catches it immediately.

“First pinch might sting,” he says, voice suddenly gentle, almost coaxing. “I’ll talk you through it. You’re good.”

You nod again, trying not to clench your fists.

Then his hand is back on your body.

He anchors you with one palm spread wide over your side, right above your hip. It’s not forceful, but there’s weight to it. A possessive steadiness. The leather chair creaks faintly under the shift of your body.

And then the needle touches. A sharp, sudden sting. You wince.

“Breathe. Just like that. You’re doing so well, pretty,” he says, voice a constant hum in your ear. “Your skin takes ink like a dream. Fuck, this is gonna look good.”

You exhale through your nose, trying to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the burn.

It helps. But not in the way it should. Because Han doesn’t shut up. Not once.

“Don’t squirm too much… unless you want me to slip.” “You’re soft here. So fucking soft.” “Bet you’re the type who likes being teased, huh?”

You let out a choked laugh, more from panic than humor. He grins, eyes glinting.

The buzz of the machine, the heat of his palm on your skin, the constant commentary—it all blends into a haze. You’re dripping adrenaline and something else entirely. You feel like you’ve been stripped down far deeper than your shirt allows.

After what feels like both a lifetime and a blink, the needle slows. He lifts it. “Almost done. You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

The words land like a slap and a stroke at once.

He sets the machine aside, reaching for a fresh cloth. He wipes your skin slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Every pass of his hand is careful, gentle.

You’re trembling now. Just a little.

He leans back finally and exhales. The air feels different. Like it’s shifted again—thicker.

“There,” he says. “Wanna see?”

You nod, throat dry.

He helps you up—guides you to a mirror near the corner. His hand stays on your back.

You look. And for a second, you forget how to breathe again. The tattoo is perfect. Clean, delicate, exactly how you pictured it. But it’s not just the ink that makes your chest ache—it’s the fact that it’s his. His hands made this. His touch. His art. On your skin.

“My work’s on you now,” he murmurs behind you, voice low and close. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”

You shake your head. You couldn’t if you tried.

The moment you slide your shirt back down, your skin feels… different. Not just because it's slightly tender from the ink, but because his touch still lingers. Like heat soaked into your bones. Like a fingerprint on your soul. You shouldn’t be this affected—he’s just your tattoo artist. Right?

You sit there for a moment longer than necessary, blinking as he finishes cleaning his station. His gloves come off with a snap, and he tosses them into the bin. You glance up, and—yep—he’s watching you.

Leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, hair a little mussed, rings catching the light. Smug as hell.

“You survived,” he says, voice bright with that chaos-riddled lilt again. “Didn’t cry. Didn’t puke. I’m impressed.”

You roll your eyes. “High praise.”

“I’ve had grown men pass out from rib pieces,” he shrugs. “One guy farted. Loud. Mid-linework. I almost dropped the machine.”

You snort despite yourself. “Well, thanks for not comparing me to the Fart Guy until the end.”

He grins, wide and gleaming. “No, no, you’re top-tier,” he says, stepping closer to grab your care sheet. “Didn’t even whimper. Except for that one part where your breath hitched and I thought—y’know, for a second—you might come on the chair.”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?!”

“Kidding,” he sing-songs. “Unless…?”

Your glare is ruined by the flush racing up your neck. You stand and grab your bag in a hurry, trying to save face. “You’re awful.”

“I’m delightful.”

He leads you back toward the front desk, swaying just slightly with each step, like he’s got too much energy stored in those shoulders. You swear he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. It’s giving feral golden retriever with a tattoo gun and a praise kink.

You hand over your card while avoiding eye contact.

He hums dramatically as he takes it, flipping it over like he’s studying an ancient rune.

“You sure you don’t wanna tip in other ways?” he says, deadpan.

Your jaw drops.

He grins, swipes your card, and taps it dramatically against the reader before handing it back. “Joking, obviously. Unless that wasn't a ‘no,’ in which case, I’m free next week—Tuesday, after 7?”

You grab the receipt from the printer and scowl at him. “You flirt with all your clients like this?”

“Only the pretty ones who shake when I touch their ribs.”

You stare.

He smiles wider.

“Okay, okay—last line, I swear,” he chuckles. Then, softer: “Hey. Can I get your number?”

The way he asks it—it’s not sleazy. It’s bold, sure. But there’s this undercurrent of actual interest, like he’s asking for something more than just your digits.

You blink. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it?” he says, grinning. “Also, in case your tattoo needs a touch-up. Or emotional support. Or if you just feel like sending me hot selfies. It’s a multi-purpose thing.”

You hesitate. Your pulse says yes before your mouth does. He notices. He always notices. You hand him your phone, and he immediately types his own number in, labelling it:

HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” JISUNG 🖤

He sends himself a text from your phone, winks, then gives it back. “Now we’re connected,” he says “Digitally. Spiritually. Carnally—well, not yet.”

You open your mouth to sass him. “You were so close to being cool,” you say.

“Close is my middle name.”

You snort and shake your head as you step toward the door. “Bye, Han.”

“See you soon, angel.”

You’re out the door.

The texting started immediately. Like, within minutes of you leaving the shop.

What began as tattoo care check-ins (“don’t scratch it or I’ll spank you—unless?”) turned into daily chaos. Then nightly chaos. Then a full-blown flirtationship spiralling out of control.

Han texts like he lives inside your brain—firing off filthy one-liners between jokes that make you wheeze-laugh at 1AM, switching between “you’re my filthy little secret” and “pls tell me I’m cute or I’ll cry.”

You finally cave after he begs you to get ramen at 9PM “as friends who have sexual tension.”

You show up. He’s already sitting cross-legged in the booth, hoodie sleeves rolled up, lip ring glinting, chopsticks twirling in one hand like he’s about to duel someone.

He greets you with: “You look edible. I meant that in a respectful way. Mostly.”

You try to play it cool. He doesn’t let you.

The whole night is full of dumb jokes, spicy noodles, and under-the-table foot nudging that turns into ankle grazing that turns into—

“You keep that up, baby,” he murmurs across the table, “and I’m gonna drag you to the bathroom and remind you what these fingers can do.”

You nearly choke on your drink. He laughs, head tilted back, so proud of himself.

You leave flustered. He kisses your cheek in the parking lot. Just your cheek. But his hand lingers at your waist. His mouth is right next to your ear.

“Call me when you can’t sleep,” he says, low. “I’ll make sure you get tired again.”

You almost trip on the curb.

The calls eventually started and slowly became routine. Especially those 1AM phone calls, they were like clockwork. You, in bed, breath heavy as his voice would melt through the speaker.

“You touching yourself yet?” “You want me to talk you through it?” “Want me to tell you what I’d do if I had you on my lap right now?”

He moans in your ear when you do what he says.

Filthy. Unfiltered. And when it’s over—when you’re breathless and ruined—he says the softest things:

“Wish I was there to hold you.” “You’re so fucking hot, but you’re also cute and funny and it’s unfair.” “You still like me, right?”

It’s not just lust anymore. It's want. Sticky, addictive, confusing want.

It started with a text.

Just one. Sent on a whim while lying in bed late at night, staring at the first tattoo he gave you—delicate black lines peeking from beneath your shirt, still soft to the touch even weeks later.

[You, 11:23PM] thinking about getting another one

You didn’t expect a fast reply. But Jisung’s name lit up your phone in under two minutes.

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤, 11:24PM] oh?? 👀 where when how much skin we talking is it just an excuse to see me again (pls say yes)

You rolled your eyes. Typed back:

[You] hipbone small script and maybe what if it was both

His reply came in a blink:

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤] come by the shop this friday after hours no distractions just me. you. ink. doors locked. lights low. …for professionalism, obviously 🙃

You stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

And then:

[You] see you friday.

Friday. 9:04PM.

Seoul’s city pulse is just starting to dim when you push open the door to NO SAINT INK for the second time.

The bell doesn’t ring. He told you it wouldn’t.

The neon signs are still lit—SINNER’S HANDS flickering a slow blood-red glow in the window—but the rest of the shop feels different. Empty. Still. Like something waiting to be touched.

The lights are dimmed. Only one small lamp buzzes near the back, casting long shadows across the matte-black walls.

Your steps echo a little as you walk inside. Then—

“Back here, pretty.”

His voice, low and smooth, floats from behind a curtain in the far booth.

You follow it. Pull the curtain aside. And there he is.

He’s already set up.

Tattoo machine prepped, gloves laid out neatly beside his sketch pad. He’s wearing an oversized black tee tucked loosely into ripped jeans, sleeves rolled just enough to show off the ink that curls around his biceps like living things.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

He’s focused on the script you’d sent him earlier—your design. A small phrase, handwritten in your own messy scrawl: “still hungry.”

When he finally glances up, it hits you like the first time all over again.

The way his lip curls. The way his eyes bite first and ask questions later. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something dark and fond. “Back for more.”

You lean against the booth’s edge, heartbeat already in your throat. “You said professionalism, remember?”

He stands slowly. Walks toward you. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

“I lied.”

A beat. Then—

“Where’s it going again?”

You lift the hem of your hoodie just a little. Hook your thumb beneath your waistband and tug it down, just far enough to expose the sharp curve of your hipbone.

His gaze drops.

Stays.

He doesn’t speak for a moment too long. Just stares—like he’s trying to memorize you before he ruins you. “That’s dangerous, you know,” he says softly. “Letting me touch you there.”

You try to swallow. Fail. “You’re the one who said no distractions.”

He smiles. “You’re the fucking distraction.”

He gloves up without another word.

You lie back on the chair, heart slamming in your chest, every inch of skin suddenly too hot.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something casual? Familiar? But the moment his gloved hand touches your bare hip—steadying you, fingers spread firm and warm—the entire world narrows to him.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, positioning the stencil. “Just like last time. You remember how good you were for me?”

You exhale shakily.

“You gonna behave again tonight, pretty thing?”

You whisper: “Maybe.”

He leans in. His mouth is close to your skin. His voice—barely a breath. “God, I hope not.” He’s still positioning the stencil.

And you? You're laid back on the chair, hoodie bunched beneath your ribs, waistband tugged low, every nerve ending on alert. The soft lamplight paints shadows across his jaw as he kneels between your legs, eyes focused.

And then—

“You know,” he says lightly, pressing the stencil into place, “I’ve seen a lot of hipbones. But this one might be my favourite.”

You snort. “Wow. So original.”

He grins without looking up. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I’m sure you say that to all your clients.”

“Only the ones who sext me about popsicles and then block me for ten minutes.”

You go still. He finally glances up. Smirks. “Yeah. Thought I forgot about that?”

You mutter, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he says immediately, like it’s a fact. “You want me to ruin your life. Slowly. Lovingly. With tattoos and aftercare.”

You cover your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs—a low, breathy sound. Then, softly: “I’m starting the line now. Hold still, baby.”

The machine whirs to life.

It’s quieter than you remember. Or maybe you’re just more aware—of everything. The way his gloved hand steadies your hip, thumb dragging along the edge of your waistband. The needle’s sharp kiss. The buzz settling into your bones.

And Han’s voice. God, he never stops talking.

“This spot’s sensitive,” he says, totally casual. “Most people squirm. But I like that.”

You tense. He notices. Of course he does.

“Relax,” he murmurs, dragging the line smooth. “You’re doing perfect.”

Another pause. Then—

“Don’t suppose you’re into pain, are you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. He chuckles under his breath. “God, you so are.”

But then, just like that—his tone shifts. He quiets. Focuses. And the teasing melts into something heavier. “Almost done,” he says, more softly this time. “You’ve been so good for me again. Always are.”

You blink. Your heart skips.

He wipes your skin again, slow and reverent, then leans back to look. He’s still crouched between your thighs, eyes focused, lips parted slightly as he takes it in.

“Fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks up at you. No grin now. Just quiet, open admiration. “It’s gorgeous,” he says. “Like… stupid good.” He presses a kiss to his gloved fingertips and taps them against your skin.

“Still hungry,” he reads aloud. “God, I could write essays on that.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Too late. MLA format. Double spaced. Thesis: you’re gonna kill me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re flushed. Breath shallow. Because now that the needle’s done…

He’s not moving. His hand stays on your waist. His eyes flick to your lips. Then back down. Then—

“You want me to touch you?”

The question lands like a live wire in the room. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t smirk. He just waits. Like he’s offering something sacred. Like he’d back off the second you said no. But you don’t. You can’t.

You nod. Barely.

His fingers tighten on your skin. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Say it. I want to hear it.”

You swallow.

“…Yes.”

“Yes what, baby?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“Jisung—”

“Use your words, pretty thing. Or I’ll stop before I start.”

You suck in a breath, eyes locking with his. “I want you to touch me.”

He moves instantly.

The gloves are still on when he presses his palm flat against your hipbone, fingers spreading possessively. His hand feels huge there—like it was made for this exact spot.

“Fuck. Been thinking about this since the first time you came in,” he mutters, voice dropping into something rough, reverent. “You looked so fucking good in that chair. All nervous and squirmy.”

He bends down.

Kisses the edge of your new tattoo, so soft it almost hurts. “My name’s not even on you,” he whispers, “and I’m still acting like you’re mine.”

Your stomach flips. You whimper.

And he grins, but it’s different now—hungry, not cocky. “Take your pants off.”

You blink.

He meets your eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

You obey—slow, breathless, trembling under his gaze. You slide them down and toss them aside. He leans in again, eyes tracing over the new ink and everything below it, slow and starving.

You’re not wearing much underneath, lacy pink panties, with a very obvious wet spot on your center.

He groans softly. “You’re already wet.”

You gasp when his fingers brush over you, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “All this from a little needle?” he teases. “Or is it the artist?”

“Fuck you,” you breathe.

He laughs. One low, wicked exhale. “Oh, you will. But not yet.”

He leans back, peels his gloves off slowly—dragging each finger loose one by one, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Tosses them into the bin without taking his eyes off you once.

Then he lowers himself between your legs.

Spreads your thighs just a little further apart with both hands. You hear him exhale.

“Fuck. This is gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t touch you yet. Just leans in.

And presses a kiss right above your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Then a little higher. And a little higher.

Your breath hitches when his lips ghost just beside the fabric.

“Soaked through lace,” he murmurs. “That’s so fucking pretty, baby.”

You’re shaking now.

He mouths over the wet spot—not even pulling them down yet. Just letting the heat of his breath and the drag of his lips torture you. You feel the scrape of his lip ring as he kisses you again, open-mouthed, right there.

“Bet you’d cum just from this,” he whispers. “My mouth through your panties. Barely even trying.”

You whimper. One hand fisting the edge of the chair.

His fingers slide over the wet spot next, slow and teasing. Two fingers rub a lazy circle, barely pressing—just enough to make your hips twitch. “I should leave these on,” he says, almost to himself. “Just push them to the side. Make you beg for it.”

You breathe, “Jisung—please—”

That does it.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down—slow, deliberate, watching every inch of you get exposed.

He groans loudly the second you’re bare. “Holy fuck.”

Then he’s leaning in again, this time nothing between you. He kisses your inner thigh first. Then lower.

Then—

His tongue drags one long, obscene stripe up your center. You cry out, hips bucking—he presses a hand to your stomach, holding you still with an effortless command:

“Stay fucking still.”

Then he goes back in. He licks you like he means it—messy, slow, then fast and deep. His tongue circles your clit with practiced chaos. He moans against you, loud, like you taste like something sacred.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled.

His hands spread you wider, his tongue dipping into your heat, nose pressed right up against your skin.

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your head falls back—gone.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “My perfect little slut. Look at you.”

Your hands tangle in his hair. You tug. He groans again and ruts into the fucking air, desperate for friction while he eats you out like he’s starving.

“You gonna cum on my mouth?” he growls, voice wrecked. “You want me to keep going or make you beg for it?”

You try to answer—can’t.

He pulls back for just a moment, lips and chin shining. “Use your words, baby. You know the rules.”

“Please—fuck—don’t stop, please—Jisung—”

“God,” he groans. “Keep saying my name like that and I’m gonna cum in my fucking jeans.”

Then he dives back in, faster now, tongue fucking into you, hand moving to circle your clit with soaked fingers while he sucks and moans like you’re his last goddamn meal. He’s everywhere—his mouth, his hand, the filthy hum of his moans vibrating straight through your core. He doesn’t pause to tease, doesn’t stop to talk this time. He’s all action now. Starved. Feral.

“Fuck,” he growls between licks, the words hot and wet against your folds. “You taste so fucking good. Gonna make me lose my mind.”

His tongue pushes in again. He flicks it fast, then slow, then sucks at your clit with a deep, wet moan that makes you cry out, back arching clean off the chair.

“There you go,” he pants, not even breaking rhythm. “Just like that. Give it to me, baby. Come on.” His voice is breathless, desperate—like he’s the one about to cum.

You’re shaking. Legs trembling. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your hands are clutching his hair, holding him right where you need him, and he just groans louder, grinding his face deeper like he wants to live between your legs. His lip ring catches against your clit—again, and again—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.

He just moans into you, hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you down as your whole body starts to unravel. You feel it in your spine. In your toes. In the fucking air.

“You close, pretty thing?” he slurs against your clit. “Yeah, you are. You’re fucking dripping—making a mess for me. So fucking perfect. All mine.”

That breaks you.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—with a sob, a gasp, a full-body spasm that crashes over you like a goddamn tsunami.

You hear yourself. You scream his name.

Jisung. Jisung. Jisung.

And he takes it.

He drinks it down like a man possessed, moaning into you like you’re water in the desert, like he’s been waiting his whole life to taste you fall apart. He doesn’t even stop when you cum—he licks you through it, tongue softening only slightly as your body twitches and bucks and pleads for mercy.

It’s too much. It’s so good it hurts.

“J-Jisung—fuck—wait—too much—”

Only then does he pull back, chest heaving, face absolutely wrecked. His mouth, his chin, even the tip of his nose glistens with you. He looks dazed.

Blessed.

He runs a hand down his face and just stares at you—spread out, soaked, shaking, glowing.

Then: “Holy fuck.”

You blink up at him, still gasping, brain static.

He grins—wide, flushed, proud as hell. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Best pussy of my life.” You try to sass him. You really do. But all that comes out is a whimper.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Dumbed you out already?”

He brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead. “You okay?”

You nod. Barely.

“You want more?”

You nod. Desperately.

He chuckles, voice thick with affection and wrecked restraint. “Yeah, baby. Me too.” Then he stands up, undoing his belt with shaking hands, and murmurs: “Get comfy. ’Cause I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget your own name.”

You’re still gasping. Still trembling. But your eyes follow the movement of his hands—shaking slightly as he undoes his belt, then the button, then the zipper.

He pushes his jeans down—

And your breath catches. You knew he’d be pretty. But not like this. Not this.

Thick. Flushed. Slight curve to the left.

And not just the look of it—the feel of it, even before he’s inside. You know instinctively it’s going to destroy you. That kind of snug fit that presses into all the right places and leaves no room for secrets.

He strokes himself once, slow and slick, precum already leaking from the tip. “Gonna be good for me, baby?” he asks, voice shaking as he fists his cock. “Let me feel that perfect pussy now?”

You nod. Dumb. Ready. So wet you feel it drip onto the chair beneath you.

He lines up—rubs the head of his cock over your folds, up and down, teasing your clit before circling your entrance. You’re still sensitive. Still twitching. And he feels it. “Still throbbing for me,” he murmurs. “God, you’re unreal.”

He pushes in. Slow. Deep. Too much. Too good.

You cry out—your body arching, your hands gripping the armrest and his forearm and anything you can reach.

Because he fits. Perfectly. Thick enough to make you stretch wide, gasp, feel it in your lungs. But not enough to hurt. No—just enough to ruin you.

“F-fuck,” he groans, head falling forward. “You’re squeezing me so tight—Jesus—don’t move yet, I’ll cum too fast—” He bottoms out, hips flush to yours. He stays there for a second. Still trembling. His cock twitches inside you.

“I’m gonna die,” he whispers. “I’m gonna die in this pussy.”

You laugh—a breathless, broken thing—and he grins like he’s proud.

Then? He pulls out halfway. And slams back in. Hard. And again. And again. Fast. Unhinged. Like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks. “Oh fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby—keep takin’ it—so fucking perfect—”

He’s rambling now. Whimpering.

Each thrust hits so deep you swear you see stars. It’s a rhythm that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be real. Every stroke dragging against your g-spot, every snap of his hips making your thighs quake.

And he’s talking. So much.

“You feel that? Huh? You feel how good you make me?” “You’re all mine. This pussy? Fucking mine. Say it.” “Say it, baby, c’mon—tell me who it belongs to—”

You choke out, “You—it’s yours, Jisung—fuck, you’re so deep—”

He moans—wrecked. “God, I’m not gonna last—fuck—you’re too good—you’re too fucking good—” Then he bends down—mouth at your ear, hips still pounding into you like he’s trying to brand your soul.

“One more,” he whispers. “Just one more, yeah? Be my good girl and cum for me again—come on—cum on my cock—let me feel you—”

You barely get the chance to nod. Because then—he changes rhythm.

Not slower. Not gentler. Worse. He fucks you harder. Deeper. Like his body knows exactly how to hit every nerve inside you. Like he’s memorized your walls. And maybe he has. Maybe from the moment he first touched you in that chair, his entire brain rewired for this—for you.

“So fucking tight,” he pants, voice cracked open, almost panicked. “Shit—look at how you take me—look at that, fuck—”

He’s holding your waist again, but carefully—just above the fresh tattoo. His fingers dig into your ribs, grip locked in, not letting you squirm away as he slams into you, pace frantic, unrelenting.

“Can’t touch your hips,” he growls, “so I’m gonna hold you right here—just like this—until you fall apart again.”

Then his hand slides down. Finds your clit. And rubs. Fast. Tight.

You moan loud.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he pants, eyes locked on your face, wild. “Come on, baby—talk to me. You know the rules.”

You try. You try so hard.

“It’s—fuck—Jisung—it’s too much—I-I can’t—”

His hand doesn’t stop. His cock drives up into you like it’s chasing your orgasm, like he can feel it coming and he wants to drag it out of you with his bare hands. “Yes, you can. You’re my good girl, right? My perfect fucking baby—tell me what you feel.”

You sob. “It’s everywhere—it’s so deep—I feel you in my stomach, Jisung—”

That makes him moan—full, wrecked, helpless. “Yeah? That’s it, baby. You feel me stretching you out? You feel how hard you’re clenching around me?”

He’s unhinged. Fucking you like he needs to feel you cum on his cock. Like it’s his only goddamn mission in life.

“Don’t hold back. Let me have it. Show me how good I make you feel.” His fingers tighten, rub faster. His cock keeps slamming up into that perfect, perfect spot.

And you break.

You fall apart on him with a cry that splits the air—your orgasm ripping through you like a detonation, a white-hot snap that makes your whole body lock up and tremble.

You cum hard. Harder than before. Harder than ever.

And he feels it. Feels you clench around him like a vice, walls pulsing, soaked, squeezing every last bit of him until he’s gasping into your throat. “Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—baby—I’m—”

He slams in once, twice more—then stills. Buried deep. Groaning so loud it echoes. And cums. Hot. Fast. Deep. He fills you up with a desperate, whimpering exhale—head falling into the crook of your neck, fingers flexing tight on your waist as he rides it out, hips twitching helplessly inside you.

“Jesus—holy fuck—how are you real—”

You don’t know what you say. You don’t know if you’re breathing. All you know is he doesn’t let go. Not even after. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up to your ribs, the other cupping your jaw gently as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

Sweet. Messy. Possessive.

“I’m so fucking in love with your pussy.” he mumbles against your skin.

You laugh—wrecked and breathless. “You just came in me.”

“I did. I’ll take responsibility.”

“You didn’t even mean to.”

“That’s what makes it romantic.”

But then he goes quiet. Both of you do. Still joined. Still pulsing. The only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, shallow, shared.

Han’s body is draped over yours, his skin hot and sticky, his face buried in your neck like he might actually die if he moves. He’s not even thrusting anymore—just lying there, full-on koala mode, arms around your waist, cock still twitching inside you like it doesn’t know it's over.

“I think I saw God,” he whispers.

You blink, still boneless and floating.

“Pretty sure she winked at me and said ‘Good job, Jisung.’”

You snort into the crumpled pillow beneath you. “Was she hot?”

He lifts his head just enough to deadpan: “She looked like you.”

A pause.

“Except taller. And clothed. And not full of cum.”

You let out a noise that’s half wheeze, half scream, face flushing as you try to twist away—but he tightens his grip, groaning as his still half-hard cock shifts inside you.

“Nooo, don’t move,” he whines. “You’ll make me hard again and I’ll die. You’re too powerful.”

You roll your eyes. “You just came in me, and now you’re being dramatic?”

He lifts his face, eyes wide. “I’m always dramatic. But now I’m dramatic and post-nut mushy.”

You smack his arm—lightly. He grins and kisses your shoulder like he’s never been happier in his life.

Then, suddenly gentle: “You okay? Need anything?”

You hum. “Water. A towel. A new pelvis.”

“I can offer you one of those things.”

He pulls out slowly, careful. You both wince a little, and he immediately fumbles for the nearest clean towel, muttering, “Shit, sorry, sorry—damn, we really did that, huh?”

He cleans you up softly, thoroughly. Tongue poking out in concentration, hands warm and reverent. You watch him in the dim light—his flushed cheeks, mussed-up curls, that stupid satisfied look on his face like he just won the lottery and the trophy was you.

He helps you sit up, eyes wide looking you over as if wanting to make sure you are okay and not just saying you're okay.

You smile at him, dazed. “That was insane.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then, quieter: “I really like you, by the way.”

You glance at him. He’s suddenly shy—voice small, fingers playing with the hem of the towel. “I mean—I know this was hot and wild and unholy, but like. You’re not just hot and wild and unholy. You’re…” He scratches the back of his head. “Cool. Funny. Gorgeous. Smart. And you have great pain tolerance and taste in art and—I dunno—your moans live in my soul now.”

You blink at him. He shrugs. “I just think you’re neat.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You lean in, kiss him soft. He melts instantly.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both curled on the couch in the back lounge. Your legs are over his lap. You’re sipping water. He’s holding your hand and doodling hearts on your thigh with a sharpie.

“So,” he says, yawning. “When do you want your third tattoo?”

You give him a look. “Planning ahead?”

He smirks, smug. “Just making sure I get to fuck you again.”

You flick his forehead.

“Ow—okay, okay. For art. Not for horny.”

But you both know the truth. You’re absolutely getting another tattoo. And this man is going to absolutely ruin you again. With love. And dick. And filthy words. And then cuddle you like a little spoon with separation anxiety.

So the answer? Yeah. Yeah you will be seeing more of him. More dates. More dick. More tattoos. Guess it's fate.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #han jisung #한지성 #han x reader #han jisung smut #filthy friday

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fatehbaz · 3 months ago

Note

hi! i hope this is alright to ask but i was wondering if you had any reading recommendations about invasive species and their management/control/rhetoric. there just seems to be a lot to it. thank you!

Woah. Look at this post I was drafting literally two hours before you sent this, about the nationalist appropriation of rhetoric of "native vs. invasive" species in Hungarian land management:

Appropriate case study: (1) The tree was non-native and its introduction was facilitated by Austro-Hungarian imperial aristocracy and military, especially as fortification during wars in the eighteenth century. (2) It out-competed native trees and the government encouraged plantations of the species. (3) Because of its economic and political importance, the reactionary Hungarian parliament in 2014 officially named the tree "Hungaricum" (native/national heritage).

Yes, there is a lot. This is practically a whole discipline.

If you're looking for a collection, anthology, or singular book with multiple tangents, angles, or perspectives (rather than having to search through individual articles or journals), there are three collections I'm recommending below, but this also might be helpful:

Feral Atlas: The More-Than-Human Anthropocene, co-edited by Anna Tsing (she's probably the most high-profile scholar of this subject). Aside from containing a bunch of freely-available essays from about 100 authors on altered ecologies and rhetoric/imaginaries of environments in the Anthropocene, their big online portal just published the entire syllabus with a bunch of maps and graphics and free articles, in formats for non-academic reading groups, undergrad classes, and graduate seminars. If you go to Feral Atlas's homepage, you'll see a straightforward list of all of those authors.

---

The Ethics and Rhetoric of Invasion Ecology (Edited by Jame Stanescu and Kevin Cummings, 2016). Including chapters:

"Alien Ecology, Or, How to Make Ontological Pluralism" (James K. Stanescu)

"Guests, Pests, or Terr0rists? Speciesed Ethics and the Colonial Intelligibility of "Invasive" Others" (Rebekah Sinclair and Anna Pringle)

"Spectacles of Belonging: (Un)documenting Citizenship in a Multispecies World" (Banu Subramaniam)

---

Rethinking Invasion Ecologies from the Environmental Humanities (Edited by Jodi Frawley and Iain McCalman, 2014). Including chapters:

"Fragments for a Postcolonial Critique of the Anthropocene: Invasion Biology and Environmental Security" (Gilbert Caluya)

"Experiments in the Rangelands: white bodies and native invaders" (Cameron Muir)

"Prickly Pears and Martian Weeds: Ecological Invasion Narratives in the History and Fiction" (Christina Alt)

"Invasion ontologies: venom, visibility and the imagined histories of arthropods" (Peter Hobbins)

---

The Invasive Other special issue of Social Research, Vol. 84, No. 1, Spring 2017. Including articles:

"Introduction [to Social element]: The Dark Logic of Invasive Others" (Ann Laura Stoler)

"The Politics of Pests: Immigration and the Invasive Others" (Bridget Anderson)

"Invasive Others: Toward a Contaminated World" (Miriam Ticktin)

"Invasive Aliens: The Late-Modern Politics of Species Being" (Jean Comaroff)

"Introduction [to Ecologies element]: Invasive Ecologies" (Rafi Youatt)

"Invasive Others and Significant Others: Strange Kinship and Interspecies Ethics near the Korean Demilitarized Zone" (Eleana Kim)

---

For individual sources:

"The Aliens Have Landed! Reflections on the Rhetoric of Biological Invasion" (Banu Subramaniam, Meridians: Feminism, Race, Transnationalism 2:1, 2011)

"Loving the Native: Invasive Species and the Cultural Politics of Flourishing" (JR Cattelino, in The Routledge Companion to the Environmental Humanities, pp. 145-153, 2017).

"The Rhetoric of Invasive Species: Managing Belonging on a Novel Planet" (Alison Vogelaar, Revue francaise des sciences de l'information et de la communication 21, 2021).

"Invasion Blowback and Other Tales of the Anthropocene: An Afterword." (Anna Tsing. Anthropocenes - Human, Inhuman, Posthuman 4:1, 2023).

Troubling Species: Care and Belonging in a Relational World, a special issue of Transformations in Environment and Societycurated by the Multispecies Editing Collective, 2017.

"Uncharismatic Invasives" (JL Clark, Environmental Humanities 6:1, 2015).

"Involuntary Momentum: Affective Ecologies and the Sciences of Plant/Insect Encounters" (Hustak and Myers, Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies 23:3, 2012).

"Patchy Anthropocene: Landscape Structure, Multispecies History, and the Retooling of Anthropology: An Introduction to Supplement 20" (Tsing, Mathews, and Burbandt, Current Anthropology, 2019).

Trespassing Natures: Species Migration and the Right to Space (Donnie Johnson Sackey, 2024)

Matters of Care: Speculative Ethics in More than Human Worlds (Puig de la Bellacasa, 2016)

Nestwork: New Material Rhetorics for Precarious Species (Jennifer Clary-Lemon)

"Requiem for a junk-bird: Violence, purity and the wild." (Hugo Reinert, Cultural Studies Review 25:1, 2019).

"Comparing Invasive Networks: Cultural and Political Biographies of Invasive Species" (Robbins, Geographical Review 94:2, 2004).

In the Shadow of the Palms: More-than-Human Becomings in West Papua (Sophie Chao, 2022)

"Timing Rice: An Inquiry into More-Than-Human Temporalities of the Anthropocene" (Elaine Gan, New Formations, 2018).

Interspecies Politics: Nature, Borders, States (Rafi Youatt, 2020)

"Interspecies Politics and the Global Rat: Ecology, Extermination, Experiment" (Rafi Youatt, Review of International Studies, 2020)

Critical Animal Geographies: Politics, intersections and hierarchies in a multispecies world (Edited by Kathryn Gillespie and Rosemary-Claire Collard, Routledge, 2015)

"Invasive Narratives and the Inverse of Slow Violence: Alien Species in Science and Society" (Lindstrom, West, Katzschner, Perez-Ramos, and Twidle. Environmental Humanities 7:1, 2016)

"Life Out Of Place: Revisiting Species Invasions. Introduction to the Special Issue" (Hanne Cottyn. Anthropocenes - Human, Inhuman, Posthuman 4:1, 2023).

---

It's been a "transdisciplinary" topic (especially in the past 15-ish years) in environmental humanities, ecocriticism, environmental studies, "science communication," anthropology, etc. (I think the humanities or interdisciplinary scholars handle the subject with more grace than ecology-as-a-field proper.) It shows up a lot in discussion of "the postcolonial," "ecopoetics," "Anthropocene," "multispecies ethnography," and "the posthuman"; Haraway was explicitly writing about rhetoric of invasive species in the 1990s.

A significant amount of posts on my blog from 2018-2022 are about invasive/alien/native labels. I summarized some of the discourses in my post about Colombian hippos. I especially talked a lot about the writing of Banu Subramaniam (rhetoric of ecological invasion, racialization of aliens); Rafi Youatt ("interspecies politics"); Anna Boswell (Aotearoa extinctions, "anamorphic ecology"); Sophie Chao ("post-plantation ecologies"); Elaine Gan ("Anthropocene temporalities" and industrial ruins); Hugo Reinert (species "purity" and extinctions); Puig de la Bellacasa ("speculative ethics in a multispecies world"); Ann Laura Stoler (of fame for her writing on "imperial debris" and ruination/haunting), Hugh Raffles, Nils Burbandt, Anna Tsing, and others. Lately in my own work I've been writing on borders/frontiers and media/colonial imaginaries of "pests/the exotic" and have been referencing Jeannie Shinozuka's Biotic Borders: Transpacific Plant and Insect Migration and the Rise of Anti-Asian Racism in America, 1890-1950.

Thanks for saying hi.

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theloverstomb · 1 year ago

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‘Fragile Microbiomes’ by bio-artist Anna Dumitriu

1. SYPHILIS DRESS- This dress is embroidered with images of the corkscrew-shaped bacterium which causes the sexually transmitted disease syphilis. These embroideries are impregnated with the sterilised DNA of the Nichols strain of the bacterium - Treponema pallidum subsp. pallidum - which Dumitriu extracted with her collaborators.

2. MICROBE MOUTH- The tooth at the centre of this necklace was grown in the lab using an extremophile bacterium which is part of the species called Serratia (Serratia N14) that can produce hydroxyapatite, the same substance that tooth enamel is made from.

The handmade porcelain teeth that make up this necklace have been coated with glazes derived from various bacterial species that live in our mouths and cause tooth decay and gum disease, including Porphyromonas gingivalis, which can introduce an iron-containing light brown stain to the glaze.

3. TEETH MARKS: THE MOST PROFOUND MYSTERY- In his 1845 essay “On Artificial Teeth”, W.H. Mortimer described false teeth as “the most profound mystery” because they were never discussed. Instead, people would hide the stigma of bad teeth and foul breath using fans.

This altered antique fan is made from animal bone and has been mended with gold wire, both materials historically used to construct false teeth (which would also sometimes incorporate human teeth). The silk of the fan and ribbon has been grown and patterned with two species of oral pathogens: Prevotella intermedia and Porphyromonas gingivalis. These bacteria cause gum disease and bad breath, and the latter has also recently been linked to Alzheimer’s disease.

4. PLAGUE DRESS- This 1665-style 'Plague Dress' is made from raw silk, hand-dyed with walnut husks in reference to the famous herbalist of the era Nicholas Culpeper, who recommended walnuts as a treatment for plague. It has been appliquéd with original 17th-century embroideries, impregnated with the DNA of Yersinia pestis bacteria (plague). The artist extracted this from killed bacteria in the laboratory of the National Collection of Type Cultures at the UK Health Security Agency.

The dress is stuffed and surrounded by lavender, which people carried during the Great Plague of London to cover the stench of infection and to prevent the disease, which was believed to be caused by 'bad air' or 'miasmas'. The silk of the dress references the Silk Road, a key vector for the spread of plague.

5. BACTERIAL BAPTISM- based on a vintage christening gown which has been altered by the artist to tell the story of research into how the microbiomes of babies develop, with a focus on the bacterium Clostridioides difficile, originally discovered by Hall and O’Toole in 1935 and presented in their paper “Intestinal flora in new-born infants”. It was named Bacillus difficilis because it was difficult to grow, and in the 1970s it was recognised as causing conditions from mild antibiotic-associated diarrhoea to life-threatening intestinal inflammation. The embroidery silk is dyed using stains used in the study of the gut microbiome and the gown is decorated with hand-crocheted linen lace grown in lab with (sterilised) C. difficile biofilms. The piece also considers how new-borns become colonised by bacteria during birth in what has been described as ‘bacterial baptism’.

6. ZENEXTON- Around 1570, Swiss physician and alchemist Theophrastus Paracelsus coined the term ‘Zenexton’, meaning an amulet worn around the neck to protect from the plague. Until then, amulets had a more general purpose of warding off (unspecified) disease, rather like the difference today between ‘broad spectrum’ antibiotics and antibiotics informed by genomics approaches which target a specific organism.

Over the next century, several ideas were put forward as to what this amulet might contain: a paste made of powdered toads, sapphires that would turn black when they leeched the pestilence from the body, or menstrual blood. Bizarre improvements were later made: “of course, the toad should be finely powdered”; “the menstrual blood from a virgin”; “collected on a full moon”.

This very modern Zenexton has been 3D printed and offers the wearer something that genuinely protects: the recently developed vaccine against Yersinia pestis, the bacterium that causes plague.

#my favourite pieces from this exhibition that I visited last month at the Thackray medical museum in Leeds #absolutely fascinating reading about the process and meanings behind these works #mine #anna dumitriu #works

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lavender-town-radio · 9 months ago

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Her given name is actually Nadia Makita, Quellcrist Falconer is the pseudonym she goes by after she starts her revolution. This pretty much only comes up in passing during the show. I think it's mentioned like... once, that Quell is not her given name.

resubmitting because i forgot a picture the first time, sorry!

big fan of Quellcrist Falconer from Netflix's Altered Carbon (not necessarily an endorsement of the show). she invented a way to transfer consciousness via technology, then spent the rest of her life as a revolutionary trying to destroy the tech, once she realized it would only be used to maintain inequality. She led a group called the Envoys, and (among other things) taught them how to use their minds to hack/break free of VR simulations they might be put in.'

Quellcrist Falconer. Hell of a name. Damn lmao what did the show do 🤣 actually no don't tell me. It's Netflix. Oooooooh that concept is always interesting. That whole "what have I done, what has my brilliance created." Like Oppenheimer except, you know... Nvm let me not. This is definitely something Hot Chocolate would like, I'll show it to him.

Hot Chocolate: Ice was right, I LOVE this. Like she said, Quellcrist is a hell of a name... I ain't gone lie, it kinda sounds like it came from a name generator. Regardless! Black woman invents immortality? Realizes corporations are using it for evil and builds a revolutionary force to take them down? Sign me up for her army AND this show. We are Envoys! 💪🏾 I've heard this show was good but never heard anything of the premise.

#fucking love quell #ONLY the show version tho. the book version is a radfem. i put aside my plans to read the books when i discovered that.#having not read the books i genuinely dont know if shes Black in them as well but i think the casting for the show was phenomenal #i fucking love altered carbon but i also wouldn't necessarily recommend it to anyone #they also just. canceled it. at the end of s2. hahaha.#the books are ENTIRELY different plot wise from the show. the show took many creative liberties.#book readers didnt necessarily like this but i hadnt read the books and rly enjoyed it so #it DOES sound like a name generator was used i agree. idk what the author was doing with that.

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resilientsys-scripts · 6 months ago

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Masc names

Benjamin, Oliver, Ethan, Lucas, Jack, Harry, Gabriel, David, Michael, Thomas, Liam, Theodore, Sebastian, Alexander, Samuel, Jacob, Logan, Nathan, Dylan, Angelo, Andrew, Romeo, Christian, Leonard.

Fem names

Emma, Mia, Louise, Eleanor, Claudia, Susanna, Amelia, Alice, Anna, Sophia, Emily, Charlotte, Grace, Sarah, Camilla, Julie, Violet, Laura, Layla, Stella, Caroline, Natalie, Lydia, Melody.

Neu names

Ash, Alex, Lee, Quinn, Sydney, Kai, Lynn, Gray, Phoenix, Darcy, Fiore, Andrea, Indigo, Morgan, Jo, Blake, Dakota, Billie, Rory.

If you have any questions, you're welcome to leave a comment. Just be nice and respectful.

Post made by: Evelyn🖤

#NAME RECOMMENDATIONS FOR ALTERS

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simspaghetti · 2 months ago

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SIMS 3: THE GLOBETROTTER CHALLENGE

Original Sims 4 Challenge here by moonfi - this is just an adaptation for TS3!

I love the idea of the original globetrotter challenge by @moonfi but the original rules are for TS4 and are specifically themed around those worlds, so I decided to make my own version adapted for the TS3 worlds / gameplay, ofc all credit goes to moonfi for the original idea :)

Credit also goes to @florydaax for the store world legacy & @horusmenhosetix for the HIX Completionist Challenge - I took some inspo from both of those to come up with the goals for each location

This is my first attempt at creating a challenge for public release so if anyone has any feedback / suggestions pls lmk

Feel free to tag me or use #TS3Globetrotter if you try this out I'd love to see how your gameplay goes - no obligation to do that though! I'm just curious lol :)

Your sim is an adventurer visiting many places around the globe… Begin your explorations in the challenge below…

[Google Docs Version HERE - I reccomend reading the challenge on there & making a personal copy for gameplay!]

There are two ways to play this challenge, the original way is intended to be played with one sim. If you're going this route it’s best to turn the aging off or set it to long - However, there is also an option to play this challenge generationally if you wish (just treat each ‘round’ as a new generation or span 2 rounds across each generation etc. It’s up to you how you want to work that out!)

The challenge is NOT about accumulating money, but enjoying the gameplay. Each round has its own main LTW and a few other goals to fulfil, but it rarely has a specific career your sim must follow - that’s because the focus should be on exploring the world around them rather than spending a lot of time in rabbitholes

This challenge uses a combination of store worlds & EP worlds, but I’ve also included few alternative custom worlds for each round you can use instead if you’d prefer - if you want to take creative liberty and choose your own world you’d rather use for a round that’s totally fine! Just make sure it fits in with the correct vibe & theme for that round / generation

You can play these rounds in whatever order you want to, but I’ve presented them in a similar order to the original challenge w. each backstory following on from the last - you can ignore or alter the backstories as you wish to suit your gamplay ofc!

THE RULES:

MOD RECCOMENDATIONS: This challenge can be played without mods, but it is definitely enhanced by their inclusion, so here are some suggestions… NRAAS Traveller will allow your sim to travel to any world you have installed, and retain relationships w. sims from previous trips once they move worlds NRAAS Tempest will allow you to take control over the world climate, which is recommended for full immersion - I also suggest checking out Pudding Parade’s Tempest project to find some premade settings for several types of different climates you can just place in your save! UPDATE: Pudding Parade has also made some preset suggestions for this challenge here! You might also want to check out my mod / CC reccomendation list for off-grid living :)

Create a sim (any age, but recommended to start with a YA), and once you move them to the first location give them a tent and set the funds to 0–50 simoleons (0 for a more challenging start) Cheats bar: testingcheatsenabled TRUE // familyfunds [insert household name] 0

Main LTWs must be completed during their round, the other goals must be completed at least halfway before moving to a new location You have a choice of several LTWs to complete for each round - take your pick of one of these, it’s not expected for you to do more than one If you’re only playing with one sim for the duration of the challenge, you can either buy a LTR to change your sims lifetime wish for each round, or go and change it manually in CAS through cheats

Your sim cannot travel to places outside the world you’re currently playing in (unless specified by that round)

They can apply for a job once they have: a tent (or a bed), a campfire (or a stove), a fridge, a toilet, a shower, a sink, a counter, a chair. they must quit their job when you move to the next location. your sim can make money by selling things they found and created from their family / personal inventory.

You can purchase (or ‘rent’ for the purposes of storytelling) a house in a world once you have the funds to do so - just know you’ll have to leave it behind when you move, so don’t get too invested!

When moving to a new location your sim can take one piece of furniture and their tent. you should sell the rest. all the collectibles or souvenirs your sim found and put in their inventory travel with them as well - just no big bits of furniture like sofas, beds etc.

In order to move worlds, your sim needs to have 20,000 simoleons in the bank - you can cheat this money if you need to, but you must reset your family funds back to normal once they’re in the next world.

If your sim forms relationships or has kids in a previous world, they can either abandon / leave them behind completely or bring them along to the next world - it’s totally up to you!

As an additional challenge, aim to master the Photography skill & take scenic photos of every town your sim visits

NEW RULE: Your sim can swap out one of their traits each round to be better suited for the gameplay - I've included some trait suggestions, but it's up to you what you decide to go with

ROUND 1: THE ARCTIC ⛰️🌠

WORLD REC: Aurora Skies / Saaqartoq

Recently packing up all their belongings and hopping on a plane from their hometown of Sunset Valley, your sim wishes to explore the world. Their first stop is to experience the most unique wonderful natural anomalies to be found in the cold arctic ocean. Where better to start their adventures than in The Arctic at the very top of the world?

Seasonal Recommendation: Set the town to a cold temperature climate using NRAAS Tempest OR disable Summer

Trait Rec: Eccentric / Computer Whiz / Handy / Loves the Cold / Genius

LTW: ‘The Tinkerer’ / ‘Become a Creature-Robot Cross-Breeder’ / ‘Scientific Specialist’ / ‘Master Forager’ (CUSTOM)

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Logic: ‘Celestial Explorer’ Collecting: ‘Metal Collector’ & ‘Gem Collector’ Science: ‘Experienced Experimentalist’

Obtain the 'Forbidden Fruit' seed

Reach level 7 of the ‘Logic’, ‘Science’ & ‘Handiness’ Skills

Reach level 3 of the ‘Fishing’ skill

Get the ‘My Best Friend’ Lifetime Reward

Swim in the hot springs / cold ocean for at least 1 hour

Go ice skating (on a rink OR on a natural body of water)

Take a romantic ride with another sim in a hot air balloon

Woohoo in the ‘science lab’ lot OR in a hot air balloon

Gain the ‘polar bear club’ moodlet from swimming in natural water during winter

‘Watch the stars’ or stargaze through a telescope for at least 2 hours during an aurora event (or between 12-4AM if you’re not playing in a world w. Auroras enabled)

ROUND 2: SLICE OF PARADISE 🛟🏝️

WORLD REC: Isla Paradiso / Sunlit Tides / Mariner's Reach / Isla Escudo

Having spent a good chunk of time immersing themselves in the scientific community, your sim feels like they’ve achieved enough to deserve a nice holiday. They set out to a warm island town to relax. They just want to chill, run away from the cold and sink their toes into the ocean. They’ve dipped their toes into fishing before, and would now like to fully immerse themselves in the deep blue sea and see what kind of things they can find.

Note: If your world doesn’t have dive lots or seashell spawners, I highly recommend placing some down so you can complete all the challenges for this round!

Seasonal Recommendation: Set the town to a hot temperature climate using NRAAS Tempest OR disable all seasons other than Summer

Trait Rec: Loves the Heat / Loves to Swim / Sailor / Angler

LTW: ‘Presenting the Perfect Private Aquarium’ / ‘Deep Sea Diver’ / ‘Pond Whisperer’ (CUSTOM)

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Fishing: ‘Ametur Ichthyologist’ & ‘Commercial Fisherman’ Scuba Diving: ‘Pearl Diver’ & ‘Savvy Snorkeler’

Master the ‘Fishing’ & ‘Scuba Diving’ Skills

Meet & become friends (or lovers) with a mermaid

Get a sunburn & a suntan (the tan can be real or from a machine)

Get the ‘Immune to Heat’ Lifetime Reward

Dive in all your world’s dive lots

Buy a boat

Fight a shark

Collect all seashells

Sunbathe in one long session on the beach for 4 hours

Go scuba diving & swim in the ocean for at least 3 hours

Woohoo in an underwater cave

Obtain the 'Mr. Marnier' Gnome

ROUND 3: DEEP IN THE WOODS 🌲🦉

WORLD REC: Hidden Springs / Moonlight Falls / Great Bear / Ainali / Eriu Fe

Your sim has grown tired of the endless heat on the islands and wants to move somewhere cooler again. The smell of pine trees and a more rustic way of life has been calling their name for some time now. They wish to admire nature, sing with the birds, get their hands into the rich soil to grow some interesting plants and go hiking in the woods.

Seasonal Recommendation: Leave all seasons on default OR just disable snow

Trait Rec: Gatherer / Green Thumb / Loves the Outdoors / Night Owl / Vegetarian / Animal Lover

LTW: ‘The Perfect Garden’ / ‘The Zoologist’ / ‘Greener Gardens’ / ‘First Class Farmer’ / ‘Master Forager’ (CUSTOM)

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Gardening: ‘Master Planter’ & ‘Botanical Boss’ Collecting: ‘Butterfly Collector’, ‘Firefly Collector’ & ‘Beetle Collector’

Get the ‘Super Green Thumb’ & ‘Collection Helper’ Lifetime Rewards (if you don’t have collection helper already)

Master the ‘Gardening’ Skill

Complete the ‘Omni Plant’ opportunity Chain (info here)

Own at least 2 minor pets (lizards, snakes, rodents or birds - or a combo of these)

Drink from the ‘fountain of youth’ & ‘wish for youth’ (you may need to place it down in edit town)

Plant every plant from the Grocery Store

Pick all the wildflower types

Observe all wild animals that come onto your home lot

Befriend a deer

Go hiking all day (walk to some community park lots, preferably up a mountain) and sleep out under the stars in a sleeping bag on a community lot at least 2x

Cook potatoes, garlic, onion, tomatoes, fish and roast marshmallows over a campfire at least once

Woohoo in a tent

Consume all the herb types (in whatever way you want) and feel their moodlet effects

ROUND 4: THE DAZZLING DESERT 🍸🌞

WORLD REC: Lucky Palms / Strangetown (V1) / Strangetown (V2) / Wild Wild West

Living in the woods was a great way for your sim to recharge their batteries and take it slow for a while, but now they’re ready for a bit more excitement! They find themselves among the vibrant desert sands, hoping to let loose, party a little bit, and also venture a little bit further out to do some archaeological exploration in a new landscape

Seasonal Recommendation: Set the town to a hot / desert temperature climate using NRAAS Tempest OR disable all seasons other than Summer

Trait Rec: Loves The Heat / Lucky / Party Animal / Daredevil / Adventurous

LTW: ‘Private Museum’ / ‘Master Romancer’ / ‘Lifestyle of the Rich & Famous’ / ‘Vocal Legend’

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Charisma: ‘Celebrity’ Mixology: ‘Cool Creator’

Reach level 7 of the ‘Mixology’, ‘Gambling’ & ‘Charisma’ Skills

Go to the casino at least 10x

Make 3 wishes at the wishing well

Host 5 parties

Set off 10 fireworks

Visit & drink at bars on at least 10 different occasions

Obtain a ‘Dusty old lamp’ and make a wish of your choosing

Get the ‘Learned Relic Hunter’ Lifetime Reward

Visit Al Simhara and get a maximum visa level for Egypt

Dig at 10 dig spots in Al Simhara

Find at least 30 relics

Analyse every relic your sim finds

Woohoo in a sarcophagus OR a hot tub

ROUND 5: STONE-BAKED SUMMER 🍕🍾

WORLD REC: Monte Vista / Veronese Island / Lago Simiore / Isla Escudo

All that partying has left your sim wanting to take it a bit more slowly and go back into nature. They’re feeling drawn to beautiful rolling hills, olive trees and cobblestoned streets. All this tasty produce the land is known for has made them want to try their hand at cooking and nectar making, after all, if they really want to experience the culture they need to learn to eat and drink like a local too! They’re also beginning to get inspired by the gorgeous scenery and want to try their hand at some art.

Seasonal Recommendation: Set the town to a warm / Mediterranean temperature climate using NRAAS Tempest OR disable Winter

Trait Rec: Artistic / Natural Cook / Savvy Sculptor / Virtuoso

LTW: ‘Culinary Librarian’ / ‘Celebrated 5-Star Chef’ / ‘Bottomless Nectar Cellar’ / ‘Master of The Arts’

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Cooking: ‘Star Chef’, ‘World-Class Chef’ & ‘Menu Maven’ Painting: ‘Brushmaster’ Sculpting: ‘Chiselmaster’ & ‘Master Sculptor’

Reach level 7 of the Cooking, Nectar Making & Painting OR Sculpting Skills

Get the ‘Born to Cook’ Lifetime Reward

Obtain every type of grape from all the worlds

Collect and learn all the recipes

Travel to Champs Les Sims, learn the Nectar-Making Skill and purchase at least 1 Nectar Maker for your lot

Make every type of meal on the wood-fire oven

Purchase a wood-fire oven for your home lot

Create at least 1 perfect-quality nectar

Visit the ‘Art Gallery’ & ‘Museum’ lots in town

Sell §5000 worth of paintings &/ sculptures

Get up to level 5 in an instrument of your choice

‘Play for tips’ for at least 3 hours on a community lot

ROUND 6: SPOOKS IN THE SHADOWS 🕸️🪦

WORLD REC: Midnight Hollow / Moonlight Falls (if not used already in round 3) / Bridgeport / Halloween Hideaway / Haunted Valley II

All that cooking, nectar making and painting was very relaxing, but your sim is ready for one more final, exciting adventure now before settling down for good. They’ve been hearing rumours about strange supernatural happenings in a distant corner of the world, and they’re keen to check out what’s going on for themselves. They find themselves in a dark place where mysticism and strange happenings seem to lurk around every corner…

Seasonal Recommendation: Leave as is or use NRAAS Tempest to create a more rainy / foggy & slightly colder climate

Trait Rec: Neurotic / Perceptive / Coward / Brooding / Supernatural Fan / Supernatural Skeptic / Night Owl

LTW: ‘Paranormal Profiteer’ / ‘Alchemy Artisan’ / ‘Leader of the Pack’ / ‘Mystic Healer’ / ‘Turn The Town’ / ‘Zombie Master’

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Alchemy: ‘Master Alchemist’ Collecting: ‘Mushroom Collector’

Master the ‘Alchemy’ Skill

Become a supernatural being of your choosing (fairy, werewolf, witch or vampire)

Get the ‘Alpha Wolf’ OR ‘Magic Hands’ OR ‘Immortal’ OR ‘King / Queen of the Fae’ Lifetime Reward depending on your supernatural type

Visit the ‘Graveyard’ lot and hang out / sleep there for at least 1x from 8pm-8am

Get into a fight with a supernatural being during a full moon

Donate plasma to a vampire

Turn 3 sims into supernatural beings (either your supernatural type by biting them or another type by using elixirs)

Woohoo in a fairy house OR magical wardrobe

Create a playable ghost OR resurrect a ghost using Ambrosia

Have a child with said ghost or previously-a-ghost sim

ROUND 7: SETTLING IN THE COUNTRYSIDE 🌾🐮

WORLD REC: Appaloosa Plains / Dragon Valley / Riverview / Constant Springs / Winchester Farming Community / Country Love

After delving into just about every corner of simnation, your sim is beginning to feel like it’s time to hang up their walking boots and settle down in the good life with their family. But their work isn’t done just yet, they have grand aspirations of owning their very own farm, surrounded by a brood of animals and maybe even a few more kids. If they’re gonna plant roots somewhere, they’re gonna do it to the fullest extent!

Seasonal Recommendation: Leave as is

Trait Rec: Nurturing / Hopeless Romantic / Animal Lover / Cat Person / Dog Person / Equestrian / Family-Oriented / Loves the Outdoors

LTW: ‘The Animal Rescuer’ / ‘The Fairy Tale Finder’ / ‘The Ark Builder’ / ‘The Jockey’ / ‘Surrounded by Family’ / ‘Country Caretaker’ (CUSTOM)

Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Riding: ‘Equestrian Champion’ (HORSE) Racing: ‘Endurance Equine’

Master the ‘Horse Riding’ Skill

Own a horse who masters the ‘Jumping’ & ‘Racing’ Skills

Get the ‘Raised by Wolves’ Lifetime Reward

Own a cat OR dog who masters the ‘Hunting’ Skill

Own at least 4 animals total (at least 1 of each type)

Woohoo in a haystack

Get married

Have at least 3 children total

Teach children all their toddler skills

Do homework with children at least 1x per child

Be ‘best friends’ with all of your children

(OPTIONAL) ROUND 8: TO THE MOON 🌜🛸

WORLD REC: Lunar Lakes / Moon Base Delta / Cronor / Mermaidia

Your sim thought their adventures were over now that they’ve explored everything this planet has to offer… That was until they were given the opportunity to be one of the first colonisers of a brand-new civilisation on a planet in outer-space. They’ll have to do their fair share of mucking-in, helping the community create new inventions or assisting in the town’s military force to defend from space-invader attacks, but it’s a brand new frontier, and your sim definitely aims to be at the front of it!

Seasonal Recommendation: Use NRAAS Tempest to create a climate where it is usually always the same weather but with more fog & hail OR disable all seasons other than Spring & disable rain (treat hail like meteor showers)

Trait Rec: Eccentric / Handy / Athletic / Brave / Bot Fan / Perfectionist / Workaholic

LTW: ‘Monster Maker’ / ‘Leader of the Free World’ / ‘Perfect Mind, Perfect Body’ / ‘Become an Astronaut’ Other Goals:

Complete the following Skill Challenges: Collecting: ‘Amateur Rock Finder’ & ‘Awesomest Rock Collector in the Universe’ Handiness: ‘Electrician’, ‘Plumber’ & ‘Tinkerer’ Inventing: ‘Scrap Collector’

Master the ‘Inventing’ & ‘Athletic’ Skills

Invent at least 1 simbot

Get the ‘Teleportation Pad’ & ‘Climation Control Unit’ Lifetime Rewards

Get abducted by an alien

Befriend an alien

Have an alien baby OR move in with an alien (you can send the baby back to its homeworld once its born if you want)

Woohoo in a bot workshop, time machine OR jetpack

That's the challenge done! Have fun :D

#TS3 #Sims 3 #Sims 3 Challenge Ruleset #TS3 Challenge #Simblr #TS3Globetrotter #Globetrotter Challenge

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marscardigan · 3 days ago

Text

A-lister — chapter i. happy new year!

A-lister masterlist

summary: to serve as ellie williams’ assistant was to live a dream, or survive a nightmare. no one made it past eight months. and then, you showed up.

content warning: mdni. smut ahead. no use of y/n.

word count: 5k

You don’t move across the country for just anyone.

But when Theresa Servopoulos calls you directly and says she needs someone, you pack a bag, hand in your notice, and get on a plane.

Now you moved through it all in a daze, nerves buzzing. Your carry-on bumped your heel for the third time, and you were half a second from kicking it across the floor when you heard her voice.

“There’s my girl.”

You turned—and there was Doreen.

She looked like the sun breaking through New York’s humid concrete gloom: golden skin that glowed like she carried her own light source, long dark braids streaked with copper, and wide brown eyes that already held you like home. She was wearing gold hoops the size of your palm, and her smile was soft and a little sideways, the kind that made you want to confess things.

“I missed you,” you breathed, nearly dropping your bag as she pulled you into a hug.

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, squeezing you tight. “I can already tell. You’ve been holding it in, haven’t you?” You nodded into her shoulder, suddenly too full to speak. “It’s okay,” she said gently, pulling back. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here before you start crying.”

“Alright,” she said from the driver’s seat an hour later, both hands steady on the wheel. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet for ten whole minutes. Spill it.”

You blinked over at her, and hesitated. “You know Theresa Servopoulos?”

Doreen’s foot jerked off the gas for a second, so fast the car lurched forward. “Fuck.” She reached across your chest dramatically. “Sorry. Reflex. You can’t just drop that name mid-traffic like she’s your cousin.”

“I take it you’ve heard of her.”

“Heard of her? Babe, you know how many people I know would give up a kidney just to get a five-minute Zoom call with her?”

You looked down at your hands. “Yeah, well. She called me.”

Doreen stared straight ahead, jaw slack. “She called you. Directly?” You nodded. “No manager, no assistant—Tess fucking Servopoulos got your number and called you?”

“Apparently my name was recommended,” you said, like it wasn’t the most surreal thing.

“By whom?”

“She didn’t say. Just said she was in a bind, and that someone she trusted said I was… what they needed.”

Doreen let out a long breath through her nose, quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it hit harder than you firstly thought.

“I think I’m still in shock,” you admitted. “I mean, she didn’t even tell me what the job was. Just that it was a personal assistant role, high-level, sensitive, and… quote: ‘not the kind of thing you describe over the phone.’”

You felt her glance over again. “That’s cryptic as fuck.”

“She said I had to talk about it in person to understand.”

There’s a pause before Doreen murmurs, “Jesus. That sounds serious.”

“Right?”

“Not just serious. That sounds life-altering.”

Her apartment in Queens hadn’t changed at all. Plants still climbed the windows, books still lived in little messy kingdoms on every flat surface, and the scent of clove, cardamom, and the faintest hint of eucalyptus was always in the air.

She opened the front door and gestured inside. “Your kingdom awaits, my lady.”

You smiled. “You didn’t have to—”

“—I wanted to.” She took your bag and set it down for you. “You stayed with me when I got fired and didn’t know what to do with my life, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” you said.

It was right after college. You had pure luck in finding a decent job after your internship. Doreen didn't have the same destiny, and her first job after uni was hell. You stayed with her until she found something better, helping her paying the rent. And now? Now she had everyone in the palm of her hand.

You hadn’t known who Doreen would become when she first moved to New York. That first job nearly broke her. She almost quit the city entirely. But she didn’t. She jumped ship, freelanced, networked, and found herself curating campaigns for indie designers and visual artists so good it made people stop scrolling mid-thumb-swipe.

Now she was known as someone whose word got people in the room. She worked with stylists, production designers, and cultural consultants. She built brands from scratch. She knew people, not just names on rosters, but people who created real things. She was always meant to shine, after all.

Later that night, you sat on the fire escape with mugs with hot chocolate, staring down at the street below.

You broke the silence first. “What if I’m not what they’re looking for?”

She shrugged gently. “But what if you are?”

“I keep imagining all the worst-case scenarios.”

“Here’s a better one: What if it’s someone brilliant? Someone who needs you the way you deserve to be needed?”

You smiled tiredly. “That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is,” she said. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked out at the night. “And what if I mess it up?” you asked quietly.

Doreen’s answer came soft and immediate. “Then you come home to me. And we can talk about it as much as you need to.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder, warmth pooling behind your eyes. Her touch alone was enough to ground you, to make you feel safe. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

“No, baby. I’m just good at loving what’s good.”

Your heart was loud. You didn’t know who you’d be meeting Monday. You didn’t know why Tess was so vague, why the job was secret, why even she sounded uneasy when she said the words ‘it’s complicated.’

But you do know that you were not here by accident. And you were not going back.

As days passed, your anxiety started eating you alive. And Doreen could tell. Now it was December 31st. The last night of the year. And you were at her kitchen table in your softest hoodie, rereading your notes for the fifth time, when she waltzed in wearing a floor-length coat and a velvet head wrap.

“Okay,” she said. “Here’s the deal. You’re coming with me tonight.”

You didn’t look up. “I love you. No.”

She leaned against the counter. “You haven’t left the house in three days except to go buy cereal.”

“Correction,” you said, flipping a page. “Also toothpaste.”

“And I will throw that toothpaste out the window if you don’t listen to me.”

You smirked, eyes still on the paper. “I need to focus. The interview’s on Monday. I need to be clear-headed, not hungover and panicking because I made eye contact with someone who was on the cover of Vogue.”

She stepped closer, lowered her voice to that gentle, glinting tone she saved for moments she knew she was right. “I know you think preparing means being perfect. But what if it just means being present? Trusting your instincts? Trusting you?”

You looked up at her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and still looked like a goddess who could command a room with her posture alone.

“Please,” she said, softer now. “Come with me. You don’t have to drink, or talk to anyone you don’t want to. Just be there. You deserve to enter the new year feeling alive, not locked in.” You hesitated. “And also,” she added breezily, “I told people you were coming, and they’re excited to meet you.”

“Doreen—”

“It’s mostly work people. Creative people. Respectful, weird, brilliant—”

“Famous?”

She smiled with all her teeth. “Maybe one or two.”

You sighed. “Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m leaving early.”

“I will personally unlock the fire escape for your escape route.”

Both of you knew how tonight’s party wasn’t just a party. It was the party: an invite-only, rooftop-under-the-stars kind of night with stylists from Milan, playwrights from downtown, Netflix showrunners, Victoria Secret’s supermodels, and, apparently, you.

The city buzzed that night, a hum beneath your skin.

A low vibration, like something about to start. Streetlights diffused by fog, the hiss of tires on wet asphalt, and the deep bass of music rising from somewhere above, like the party was floating above the rest of the world, unreachable unless invited. And you were, indeed, invited.

Wrapped in winter, cheeks flushed and fingers stiff in your gloves, you stepped out of the elevator and into a rooftop that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. It was all polished glass and concrete softened by string lights. Hanging lanterns glowed honey gold. The skyline opened beyond the safety rail, glowing like the inside of a beehive.

People glittered. Silk. Sequins. Fur coats unbuttoned just so. Perfume that smelled like luxury and secrets. You adjusted the hem of your dress. The dress Doreen had insisted you borrow from her closet. “Something that doesn’t look like you’re trying,” she’d said, rifling through hangers. She landed on one that was midnight-colored, silky but not too shiny, hugging the lines of your body like it knew what it was doing. You’d protested. Then looked in the mirror. And she was right, like always.

“You’ll thank me later,” she had whispered.

The scent of money and ambition hung in the air like incense. Everyone looked like they had perfect teeth and someone to manage their schedule. Polite conversation clinked like glasses.

You clutched your mocktail too tightly. Took a breath. Then reached for a glass of wine instead. Just enough to soften the edges.

At some point, you laughed too loudly at something Doreen murmured in your ear. Her hand was on your back, grounding you. She could tell when you needed it. Her concern came through in small ways, like a slightly longer glance, a subtle repositioning to block someone’s gaze.

“I’m gonna go talk to Jules about this campaign pitch,” she said, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Sit. Breathe. Soak it in. You’re doing fine.”

You nodded, the wine finally easing your shoulders. “Okay.”

And then she was gone, swept up in the slow-moving tide of social sharks and glass clinks.

You turned, off-balance in that way you only are when you're slightly tipsy and slightly too aware of yourself. A velvet couch near the corner of the terrace caught your eye—tucked into an enclave half-sheltered by hanging lights and a sleek heat lamp that made the shadows long and soft.

You let your body fall into the cushions with a sigh that felt like release. It was quieter there. The edge of everything. You set your glass down on the little marble table and relaxed.

When you opened your eyes—God knows how much later—someone had taken the other half of the couch.

A woman.

You blinked slowly, trying to focus. The room shimmered slightly at the edges, like it was underwater. Your head was light, your limbs too warm, and the lighting in this corner was low, just the soft gold glow of string lights spilling sideways from a nearby window. Shadows sliced across her face like secrets.

She wore a dark satin shirt, matching pants. Her posture was effortless, an ankle resting over her opposite knee like she’d been there forever. There was something about her presence, but you couldn’t really see her face. Not clearly, anyway.

The alcohol made your vision slightly syrupy. And she was positioned just off the edge of the light, her face half in shadow. You caught flashes: the strong line of her jaw, the subtle glint of freckles, maybe? Or just the way her mouth moved when she sipped from her glass. Her hair was cropped close, that much you could tell, and it suited her, framed her head like something deliberate, almost poetic.

But the details like the color of her eyes, the exact curve of her smile, they were just out of reach. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

And when she muttered under her breath, “I fucking hate parties,” with that dry, dismissive edge, you snorted. Out loud. You knew the comment wasn’t meant for you. But you heard it.

She turned. Slowly. “Wow,” she said dryly, “that wasn’t even my best material.”

You pressed a hand to your lips, trying not to laugh. “Sorry. You caught me off guard.”

“What?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “You kinda just appeared.”

“Would you have said no if I’d asked?”

“Would you have asked?”

She shrugged, eyes glittering. “No.”

There was a beat.

“Why are you even here?” you asked, waving at the glittering crowd. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. Came with someone. Got bored.”

“You ditched them?”

“Moment they got sucked into a conversation about some rich shit.” You winced. She sipped her drink. “You?”

“Friend dragged me out. Even allowed me to borrow her dress and everything.”

Her eyes flicked down your frame, slowly, like she had all the time in the world. “The dress was a good call.”

You felt your ears flush. “Thanks.”

Something in your chest ticked faster. You picked up your glass again for something to do. The conversation moved from there, warm and comfortable and safe. Something spun loose inside you. It didn’t feel like trying anymore. It felt like finding a strange rhythm with someone who danced the same way.

Then she said it. Like a challenge. Like a door swinging open.

“Come with me. Let’s disappear.”

And just like that, she lifted her palm, waiting for you to grab it, and you did. You rose. She stood. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care. You moved together like shadows along the back wall, down a side hall, through a door that probably belonged to a coat closet but felt like something more secret.

It wasn’t like you planned it. You were following her. Or maybe she was following you. Or maybe the universe cracked open just wide enough to let this happen, the dim hallways that rich people always seem to have in their homes.

She reached past you to open a gold-trimmed door. You slipped inside first.

The light was low, almost nonexistent. Just the thin glow of the hallway seeping through the cracked door before she closed it. The air inside was heavy, warm, thick with expensive perfume soaked into designer coats. You could smell vanilla, amber, cedar. Something floral. Something like leather.

The door clicked shut behind her, soft but final. And in the dark, the world shrank.

You could feel her, even before she moved. That quiet presence, like heat. Then, you felt the contact. How her fingers brushed your hip. Barely. Just enough to make your breath catch. Tentative. A question, maybe.

You turned toward her, heart thrumming like wings against your ribs. The closet was too narrow for distance. You were already close, but now, face to face. Eyes somehow finding each other in the dim.

And hers, God. Even if you couldn’t see clearly, you could decipher them perfectly. They weren’t impatient, or cocky, or drunk. They were something else entirely. Like hunger layered with caution. Like she was afraid of breaking something sacred. Like a restraint coiled so tight it might snap.

Finally, her mouth was on yours. Not rushed. Not clumsy. A ghost of a kiss. A brush, a pause. Like a prelude. Like a question you didn’t know how to answer except to lean in, give more, let it happen.

So you did. You kissed her back. Soft at first, tasting her, breathing her in. The shape of her mouth was like a secret. Warm and deliberate. You could feel the way she was holding back, measuring the space between pleasure and permission. It made your skin burn.

Then it shifted into something hotter, something deeper, but still soft. Her hand found your waist again, firmer this time, fingers curling through your dress like she wanted to memorize every inch. She tilted her head and kissed you like she'd waited hours. Days. Like she was trying to burn her name into your mouth without ever speaking it.

Your back hit the wall of coats with a muted thud. She pressed into you as her other hand slid into your hair, slow, threading carefully. You gasped when her teeth grazed your bottom lip, sharp and fleeting.

And still, she paused. “This okay?” she murmured against your mouth.

The words ghosted over your own lips. You nodded, dizzy. “Yes.”

But she didn’t kiss you again right away.

She pulled back just far enough to take a good look at you. Her gaze flicked between your eyes, scanning for something. For doubt. For permission. And when she found it, whatever she was looking for, her mouth came back to yours with purpose.

And this time, it wasn’t soft. This time, she kissed like someone who had nothing left to lose. Like she was trying to brand the night into you. Like the only thing that mattered in the entire city, the entire world, was you saying yes and meaning it.

Your hands slid to her shoulders. Her jaw. The back of her neck. Every part of her was heat and pressure, intention and control. She was taller up close. Or maybe it just felt like she towered, the way she moved against you, steady without being still at all.

She tasted like whiskey and Marlboro. Her lips moved to your jaw, slow, trailing heat. She kissed the place under your ear, and you inhaled sharply, your knees nearly buckling.

Outside, faintly, the countdown began.

Five!

Her mouth was on your throat now, open and warm, teeth teasing the skin before she soothed it with her tongue. Your head tilted instinctively, letting her in, exposing more.

Four!

Your hands gripped her shirt, fingers curling in satin. She pulled you closer like she couldn’t stand even a sliver of distance. Like needing you against her was the only thing that made sense.

Three!

Her hand found your thigh. She slid it slowly, deliberately, under the hem of your dress, fingertips featherlight, waiting for the smallest shift of your body to tell her yes again.

Two!

You kissed her like you had nowhere else to be. Like you belonged there, in the dark, in her hands, in the fire she’d lit inside your ribs. Her mouth moved over yours with bruising intensity now, like she was starving for something neither of you could name.

One!

A ragged exhalation passed between you as her hand tightened on your thigh. She pushed gently, fingers slipping upward with aching slowness, testing every second for resistance. You didn’t pull away. You tilted your hips forward, just slightly, a silent answer—yes, yes, please.

She groaned softly, like the sound had been dragged from somewhere low in her chest.

Happy New Year!

Outside, muffled through walls and coats, came the pop and sizzle of celebration. The windows must’ve lit up with color from the fireworks. Someone yelled, followed by glasses clinking and a shriek of laughter that felt miles away. A whole world was happening outside. But inside, time fractured. She was kissing you like she’d forgotten language itself. Like her only fluency was touch and need and want.

Her hand slid further, seeking for skin, heat, finding the soft inside your thigh. You gasped into her mouth. She swallowed the sound like it fed her, grinning deviously. Her fingers traced a line with maddening patience, not rushing, not assuming, she was just taking her time to learn you with every move.

You were breathless now. Unraveled. Your hands gripped the collar of her shirt, then her shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength of her. Her body fit against yours like puzzle pieces twisted into something new; familiar and foreign all at once. She cursed under her breath. And then her hand moved where you’d wanted it. And you arched.

Your back hit the coats again, your forehead dropped to her shoulder, and she held you there, one arm firm across your lower back, anchoring you like she knew you'd forget gravity existed. Her mouth traced your temple, your jaw, the curve of your neck. She kissed every inch she could reach, slow and reverent, like you were something holy and fragile and on fire.

And when her fingers moved, when she pressed and stroked in rhythm with your breath, your knees almost gave out. But she caught you.

You bit your lip, hard, to keep from crying out. She kissed you again, coaxing the sound out anyway. Every touch was impossibly tuned to your body, like she knew how to ask without words, how to listen to the smallest shiver of your hips, the catch in your breath. Like this was the language you both shared now, this rhythm, this rising tide.

You pulled her closer, nails pressing lightly into her back through the thin silk of her shirt. Her breath was ragged against your skin, just as undone as yours now. You buried your face in her neck and let it take you. A trembling wave of sensation that left you raw and open and shaken in the best possible way. She didn’t say anything. Just held you. One hand cradling the back of your head. The other still resting on your thigh, soft now. Still.

Minutes passed, and the fireworks faded outside. The party throbbed on beyond the door. The music pulsing low, someone stumbling past the hallway with a laugh and the clink of heels. But in the quiet closet, you breathed.

Finally, she spoke. Low. Breathless. A little stunned. “Happy New Year.”

You exhaled against her collarbone. Your lips brushed her skin as you answered. “Not bad,” you murmured. “As far as midnight kisses go.”

She laughed softly. “High praise.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was charged. Like the air still crackled with what had just passed between you. Like the universe was still catching its breath.

You could’ve stayed. Could’ve said something. Could’ve asked her name. Could’ve learned her voice, her laugh, what color her eyes really were in the light. Could’ve exchanged numbers.

But something in you wavered.

Maybe it was the sudden rush of clarity, the sharp return of your heartbeat as the spell broke. Maybe it was the way she didn’t ask for anything else. Didn’t say “stay.” Didn’t try to stop you. Maybe it was your own fear. So, you reached down. Smoothed your dress. Ran trembling fingers through your hair.

She stepped back just enough to give you space. Her hand lingered on your wrist for a beat longer than necessary. She didn’t speak.

So, you opened the door as the cool air rushed in. Sound returned. Light. Laughter. The sharp clink of glasses. You stepped out into the hallway. She didn’t follow, and you didn’t look back. But you could feel her, standing in the shadows. The shape of her still written on your skin. Her mouth still warm on your lips. Her fingers still trembling ghosts on your thigh.

Later, you would wonder what would’ve happened if you’d turned back. But instead, you found Doreen again—her makeup smudged, her laugh still bright. She was holding two flutes of champagne and raised one when she saw you.

“Hey, dove,” she said, tipping her head. “You good?”

You nodded, breathless. “Better than good.”

And for once, you meant it.

The next morning hit like betrayal.

You woke up on Doreen’s couch with your face half-stuck to one of her throw pillows, mouth dry. Your head pulsed in slow, deliberate thuds. The kind of headache that felt personal. Like your brain was mad at you specifically. You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.

“Oh, good,” Doreen’s voice came from somewhere near the kitchen. “You’re alive.”

“Debatable,” you croaked.

“Didn’t even drink that much, lightweight,” she teased. A mug clinked against the counter. The smell of coffee drifted across the room like a blessing. “You know you have your own room, right? I know the couch is good, but…”

You sat up slowly, regretting every second of the motion. “This feels illegal.”

“Hydration is not a crime,” she said cheerfully, walking over with a glass of water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. She handed them both over like a priest delivering a sacrament. “Water, coffee and ibuprofen. Say thank you.”

You squinted at her, blinking. “Thank you, Jesus in a silk robe.”

“You’re welcome, my child.” She sat down on the other end of the couch, one leg folded beneath her. “So.”

You blinked again. “So what?”

She grinned. “Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t disappear for like thirty minutes and come back looking like your soul had just been rearranged?”

You groaned and collapsed backward onto the couch. “Oh my God.”

“I knew it,” she crowed. “You hooked up with someone, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with the pillow again. “Shut up.”

“Tell me everything. Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled into the cushion.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You what?”

“I don’t know!” you said, sitting up, hair a mess, coffee sloshing in your mug. “She just—she was there. On the couch. We talked. And then we ended up in that weird gold closet, and I don’t even know her name but—” Doreen stared at you like you’d announced you’d married a cryptid. “—Doreen. She was so good at it.”

You weren’t even sure what ‘it’ covered, exactly. Kissing, touching, the part where her hand slid up your spine like she’d been built for it. The part where you forgot your own name for about thirty seconds because her mouth had learned you too quickly.

Doreen’s jaw dropped. “Okay, wait—like, good good?”

You nodded slowly. “Like—how-do-you-know-what-I-want-before-I-do good.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

She whistled low. “So mystery hot girl with angel face and demon skills just made out with you in the coat closet, then vanished into the night like a horny fairytale?”

You sipped your coffee. “Pretty much.”

“And you didn’t get her number?”

“She didn’t ask for mine.”

Doreen threw both hands in the air. “You’re killing me.”

“I didn’t plan it! It just… happened.”

“Okay,” she said, holding up a hand like she needed to physically catch the chaos. “Was she someone I invited? Someone from work?”

“I didn’t ask.” You shrugged helplessly.

“But like—you can’t even describe her to me?”

You looked at her, deadpan. “Oh, I’m sorry, it was kind of hard seeing anything in the dark apart from her lips.”

Doreen choked on her own coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

“I stand by it,” you said, sipping yours. “They were very informative lips.”

“Did you at least recognize her from somewhere?”

“I was too busy trying not to combust.”

Doreen made a dramatic noise of suffering. “God. This is why I need to start running background checks on my party guests.”

You laughed weakly, falling back again. “Do you think I’m gonna see her again?”

She gave you a look. “In this city? Not unless fate’s feeling flirty.”

“I hate that you’re probably right.” You sighed.

“Okay, but what if she was someone famous?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Like, what if you made out with someone who has a fucking Wikipedia page?”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“I’m just saying—if you turn on HBO, and she’s the lead in some big series, don’t act surprised.” You threw a pillow at her. She ducked, laughing. “Anyway,” she said, calmer now, “I’m glad you had a good night.”

You looked at her. “Me too.”

She smiled gently. “It’s nice to see you let go. Even if it took whiskey and a woman with witchcraft lips to make it happen.”

Finally, Monday arrived.

You were up hours early, pacing the length of your apartment with a mug of black tea you never drank, because your stomach couldn’t handle it. Your phone buzzed with a final confirmation from Theresa Servopoulos’s:

Subject: NYC Meeting – Confirmed Time: Monday, 10AM Location: Office address attached. No phones. No assistants. NDA will be waiting. T.S.

Tess. Fucking. Servopoulos.

Even saying her name in your head felt like trying on something expensive and too tight. She wasn’t just a powerhouse in the industry. She was the industry. The woman had turned reputations into legacy, scandal into stardom. She was untouchable. And you were walking into her office to interview as a personal assistant to a ‘very high-profile’ client. No name. No details. No photos. Just the warning: this person is very private. Very well known. Very demanding. Your knees nearly buckled in the elevator.

Theresa’s studio wasn’t quite an office, it was more like a sanctum. You were led down a hall too silent for footsteps and into a glass-walled room with floor-to-ceiling views of Manhattan.

And there she was. Sitting at the head of the room like a god behind glass, wearing an immaculate gray suit. Her gaze flicked up as you entered, cool and precise.

“Sit,” she said simply, and you obeyed. She didn’t waste time. “You’ve worked in event coordination, communications, and crisis management. But you’ve never been a personal assistant.”

“No,” you said, willing your voice to stay steady. “But I’ve supported high-pressure workflows. I’m organized, fast, and extremely discreet.”

Theresa arched one brow. “Everyone says that until the first public meltdown.”

“I don’t melt,” you replied swiftly.

A pause. Then a twitch of something almost like approval at the corner of her mouth.

“This client,” she continued, “requires a full-time shadow. Scheduling. Messaging. Coordinating press with multiple teams across time zones. You’ll have no work-life balance. You’ll have no predictability. You’ll have to know what she needs before she says it.”

She. She said she.

“This client values privacy. Discretion. Stability. You’ll travel, often last-minute. Works irregular hours. And she doesn’t tolerate… dramatics.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Theresa studied you a moment longer. “You’ll meet her now. She’ll make the final decision.”

That thud in your chest? That was your heart deciding it might bail. You swallowed hard and nodded. Before you could even say anything else, the door behind you clicked open. You turned, and your heart dropped clean through the floor.

Leather jacket. Auburn hair tied back, loose at the nape. Eyes shadowed behind dark sunglasses — until she took them off.

It was her. Ellie Williams.

Oscar-nominee. BAFTA darling. The face of two billion-dollar franchises. You’d seen her a thousand times. On billboards. In interviews. On streaming platforms and film festivals and magazine covers.

She was one of the most recognizable woman in Hollywood from this generation.

And you’d had your tongue in her mouth in a coat closet two nights ago.

series taglist !

@leaaavesss @yasmilks @bambi-luvs @mars4hellokitty @esotericatrait @wewerewildandfluorescent @ferxanda @haithone @bbut3rflyi01 @lvmxih @oneinameliann

211 notes · View notes

ch1-kasak0 · 3 days ago

Note

They are <3

shamehalo (Marcus x metatron) ..... Perchance... 😇

1. Why don't you ship it?

I. I didn't know it was a thing 😭😭😭

2. What would have made you like it?

Knowing about it — seriously though, knowing anything about a ship is the most straightforward way for me to like it. I Am Not Immune To Propaganda /silly

3. Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

I'm sure they're delightful to watch as they wreck others' lives <3 also that ship name is funny Why They Called That /lh

#also they're named that because..... Someone recommended it? Wanted to include shame or something and one of my moots suggested something #similar and I altered it to shamehalo #😇

10 notes · View notes

mis-anthrapologistic · 2 months ago

Text

[long post] random simplyplural inspo

cw: vague s/h warning in the first pic

our current custom fields:

* lyric / quote

blank field for a divider or graphic

* bday or forming date

* age

* appearance (verbal description)

* faceclaim (picture)

* other names

* prns & sexuality

* species

blank field for a divider or graphic

* role

* symptoms held

* activity (how often they front)

* complexity (fully formed or not)

* hierarchy

* subsystem

* relationships (internal & external)

* headspace location

blank field for a divider or graphic

* source

* pseudomemories or source memories

* source quotes

blank field for a divider or graphic

* weirdly specific opinions

* likes

* dislikes

* playlist

* irrational fears

* fun facts

blank field for a divider or graphic

* sign off

* fronting triggers

* reviews (that other alters leave about them)

* miscellaneous

* badges (stamps, blinkies, etc)

* credits

other random field ideas:

* mbti or other personality types

* talents & hobbies

* how to tell when the alter is at/near front

* handwriting, typing quirks, etc

* "this" or "that" type questions (cats or dogs, introvert or extrovert etc)

* other titles to refer to the alter as

* associations

* which alters helped fill out the profile

* stereotypical tropes?

* what types of dysphoria the alter experiences (height, gender, voice, etc)

* kins/synpaths

* what they would be bullied for in middleschool /hj

* "life written by: ___" (favorite writer, music artist, etc. basically, "they get me" or saying that their work is very relatable.)

* fursonas, oc's, etc

* how to make the alter feel more comfortable when they're at front, or if you're meeting them for the first time

* neopronoun or xenogender hoards

* what they would most likely be arrested for

* wishlist of things the alter wants to buy?

* if you're into things like danganronpa, then feel free to add a SHSL talent field :3

☆

we don't regularly add anyone on simplyplural, so we don't have that many privacy buckets. however, we do have one for all source related fields (faceclaim, source, mems, quotes, etc).

we also have a privacy bucket for the pronouns and sexuality field in case we ever add anyone we know irl.

for each of our role groups, we always include a definition for the role in the description/info box for those who may not know the term. ^_^

☆

other things we to do make our profiles a little bit more fun:

* silly quotes or references for the bios! we usually do twitter or tumblr references.

* over-use and abuse the description box for the groups. we always leave little notes, jokes, gifs, or extra graphics in ours.

* we have an info page at the top of our alter list where we include basic info about the sys. we also added a basic dictionary of system terms in the custom fields and some userboxes!

* make tons of silly groups. if you're running low on inspiration, check out those sorting memes where characters are put into certain scenario categories (hard to explain, but do you know what i'm talking about?). like... what characters would do in a fire, watching a horror movie, etc.

* also, groups for subcultures‼️

* get people outside of your sys to leave reviews about the alters to add to the "review" field! bonus points of they write it like a professional review or add "__/5 stars".

* we don't read fanfiction, but if you do, i recommend adding a section in the custom fields or groups for a hyper-specific AO3 tag or something!

* don't worry if your account isn't always super aesthetic. seriously, it's okay. your account layout has nothing to do with how valid you are. just make sure you have fun. :p

245 notes · View notes

aikastales · 1 year ago

Text

i’m drunk, i love you (jk)

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: with only a day before graduation, you make a promise that you will not only graduate from university, but also from your feelings for your best friend of seven years, jeon jungkook.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: film student!jungkook x med tech student!fem!oc (named sola)

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌: heavy angst, unrequited love, jungkook as an isko agenda, set in the ph 🇵🇭

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: this story is fiction. it does not represent the members of bangtan or any of the idols here in real life. all resemblance to real life characters, institutions, associations, places, events, among others are either purely coincidence or depicted in a fictitious manner only. there’s really no warnings for this story other than it’s a self-indulgent fic to get me back to writing. the smut isn’t that severe. just kissing, nipple sucking, and grinding. this is based on the film, i’m drunk i love you, which i highly recommend you watch. i didn’t alter much of the plot & scenes bc i think they’re already great as it is, but i did tweak a bit here and there. i hope you enjoy! let me know what you think by reblogging/commenting. ♡

𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 5,784

You were never quite the believer in love at first sight, but what you felt that night was the closest thing to that feeling.

He was one of the freshmen performers during your orientation, singing Adam Levine’s Lost Stars. Like the entire audience, you were captivated by his heavenly vocals and charisma as he performed on stage with an acoustic guitar one of the seniors lent him. Not only that, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t bad looking either—quite the opposite, really.

However, after the orientation, you didn’t get to see much of the dark-haired handsome boy. You were studying at UP, the biggest state university in the country, and so your paths were bound not to cross. Until, your older cousin, who was a senior at that time, invited you to eat dinner with him and a couple of his buddies after seeing you strolling around campus alone. When you arrived at the eatery, you not only saw your cousin Yoongi’s friends—Yijeong and Woosung—you also spotted the boy who hadn’t left your mind since you saw him over four months ago at that time.

You sat across from him and you tried your best not to freak out as Yoongi introduced the both of you. Apparently, he had already known Jungkook because he was the younger stepbrother of his other friend, Namjoon. During the course of your dinner, you and Jungkook didn’t really talk much. But you would muster up the courage to ask him some basic questions such as his program, why he went to UP, if he joined any orgs yet, etcetera. Jungkook was polite enough to answer your inquiries.

He was a Film major. He went to UP because everyone in his family went to UP so it was the most obvious choice for him and he was a member of the Film society. In return, Jungkook asked the same set of questions. You were a pre-med student, Medical Technology, to be exact, and you went to UP because it was your dream school. You were also a member of the College of Arts and Sciences’ student council.

After your meal was finished, Yoongi entrusted your care to Jungkook as they were going to meet up with some of their friends and you were both living at campus dormitories anyway. So, you hopped into his old army green Toyota Rav4 and needless to say, the ride back to UP was awkward. So, to get rid of the awkward silence, you asked if you could play some music. He said sure and handed you the aux cord already connected to his stereo. Once you had the other end connected to your phone, you played one of your favorite songs—Waltz of Four Left Feet by Shirebound and Busking.

To your surprise, Jungkook also knew the song and just like that, the awkward silence was gone and you became inseparable ever since.

Music became the bridge that connected you and Jungkook. Whenever you would hangout, it was always your topic—your favorite artists, songs, original scores in films, best albums, underrated artists, overrated artists, the current state of music, everything. He also became your gig buddy—seeking out mainstream and indie artists you both liked and going to their live performances downtown bars, jam packed arenas and stadiums.

But your favorite would always be watching him perform. After his performance at the orientation, he naturally became one of the popular students at UP. He wasn’t popular like a celebrity or an influencer, but heads would turn whenever he walked around campus. Also, he still had the luxury of privacy on his side, but if you looked at the right places, you would find small accounts on social media dedicated to him. He didn’t care for the attention, though, and just went about his day as normally as possible.

His performance did land him some gigs here and there. You found it cute whenever he’d turn to you to ask if he should accept the invitation or not, and you would always tell him to do whatever he wanted. Most of the time, he accepted, especially if it was at Route 96, a historic venue for aspiring musicians.

It was here that he performed the first song he wrote by himself called Still With You. It was also during this performance that you began to see him in a different light—quite literally. He was performing with the bar lights off, only the lights on stage and the spotlight illuminated the entire establishment. When the spotlight on him turned purple, you felt a whole new admiration for your best friend. It wasn’t the “Oh god I’m so proud of my best friend” kind, rather it was the “Oh fuck I’m in love with my best friend” realization.

But like every other story where someone falls in love with their best friend, you kept your feelings hidden, hoping someday it would go away. However, you soon realized, once you fell in love with Jeon Jungkook, there was no going back. It was a rabbit hole.

The more you spent time with him, the more you fell in love with him and all of him—from the way he smiles to the sound of his laugh, how he would always annoy the shit out of you when you were supposed to be studying to how he would remember small things about you like your favorite snack at the vending machine, how you’d be the first to know his test results to how you’d be his first audience for the short film they needed to produce for that semester, how he would lend you his jacket when you ate bingsu because he knew you’d get cold easily to how he’d send you random memes he found funny out of the blue.

It was so easy to fall in love with Jeon Jungkook. Thus, everyone else did too. For seven years, you watched on the sidelines as he dated several girls and loved them how you wished he’d love you.

“In one day, you can finally lay your hands on Jungkook,” your best friend, Mingyu, teased as he took a sip from his beer.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, head resting on your palm, elbow propped on the wooden table in front of you, a bottle of beer in the other hand. You were bordering on getting tipsy now as you had been drinking since you arrived at La Union with Mingyu and Jungkook in the afternoon. You didn’t even know why you agreed to your best friend’s idea of going to the province for a music festival when you had your graduation—the very graduation that was seven years in the making—on Sunday.

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu,” you told the honey-skinned man across from you with a chuckle.

“What? Let this be your final test before finally graduating. Are you ready?” a lopsided grin appeared on his handsome face.

Under the orange light, Kim Mingyu was easily one of the most handsome men you ever laid your eyes on. He was also tall, well-mannered, smart, capable, had a stable job while being a med student, and the textbook definition of a walking green flag. In another life, you could imagine yourself falling for him instead of Jungkook. But in the current universe you were in, he was one of your trusted friends who had known about your crush on Jungkook since first year.

The waiter arrived to bring you your order of another bucket of Red Horse beer. Mingyu took a bottle from the silver bucket and opened it. “Happy horse for the happy whore,” he told you as he handed you the fresh bottle of beer. You gave him a middle finger. He laughed. “What? Am I not right?”

“You’re the whore,” you replied. “I saw you with that cute chinito by the beach earlier. What happened to Mino?”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of his ex—or you believed was his ex. You never really know with Mingyu and relationships. He was the complete opposite of you. While you were a hopeless romantic at heart, he didn’t believe in love—or so he says.

“Seven years,” Mingyu mused, glancing towards the beach. “You didn’t stop falling in love with your best friend. Now, it looks like you don’t even plan to stop.”

You sucked your teeth, tracing the water around the bottle due to the ice with your fingers. “Do I just throw it away?” You weren’t sure if you were asking Mingyu or yourself. “We make a good pair.” You laughed to yourself.

“Except?” Mingyu pointed out the harsh reality.

“Except,” you took in a shaky breath. “He doesn’t love me back. Maybe.”

Mingyu sighed deeply, looking at his watch. “Time check: you still have your hopes up.”

“It’s still early,” you argued. “I still have two days. Just give me time.”

“Give me time?” Mingyu repeated, taking a sip from his beer. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sola? The universe has given you all the time. But you did nothing.”

You groaned, throwing your head back as a realization hit you. “Fuck, Gyu, I just—I just realized. Is it right that we’re here? Was it the right decision to come here? My mom’s gonna be so mad once she finds out I’m in La Union.”

“It’s all you. You’re a raging masochist,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway. Let’s just play a game. Let’s enumerate all the things you did with Jungkook. Those are seven years worth of memories, Sola. Game?”

“Game.”

“What year did you first meet Jungkook?”

A smile immediately creeped up on your face. “2017.”

Mingyu waved his hand at you. “Wow! You can do math! But I just thought of something—instead of just general memories. Let’s make them specific. Let’s list down all the stupid things you did for Jungkook for seven years.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you let out a scoff, drinking your beer.

“What? Now you can’t remember?” he challenged.

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, you stupid bitch. Ask away.”

Mingyu grinned. “2018.”

You hummed before saying, “Jungkook was heartbroken that year. I was back at home and he was at UP. But I rushed into the city to be there for him. I remember because I was supposed to attend this baptism with my parents but I snuck out and got an earful from my mother the next day. I was completely hungover too because Jungkook and I went bar hopping the entire night.”

“Jesus Christ, Sola.”

“Don’t judge me. It was my decision, okay?”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Okay. 2019.”

You stared at Mingyu, laughing as you recalled the memory. “2019. Me and Jungkook walked from UP to Aurora Boulevard just to tell me how Song Areum became his girlfriend.”

He shook his head. “2020.”

“2020—he was sick. I had an exam that day, but I quickly answered it so I could buy him his favorite, Tapsilog from Tapsi ni Vivian, before it ran out ‘cos it runs out quickly, right?” Mingyu nodded. You licked your lower lip then let out a small laugh. “But when I got to his dorm room, his roommate already told me Areum brought him to the university hospital. And I failed my exam ‘cos I didn’t answer the back part.”

“2021, go!”

“I loved him for four years now and counting. Is that good enough?”

“Okay. I’ll accept it. 2022?”

“2022—I’ve been in love with him for five fucking years already, fucking shit!” you exclaimed, feeling the alcohol in you boosting your confidence.

“Okay. We’re in the last year, girl. What about in 2023? What was the stupid thing you did for Jungkook last year?”

You gulped. “I’m two years delayed.”

Mingyu exhaled deeply. A moment of silence settled between the two of you. Then, she asked, “Sola, it all boils down to this: when will you end this?”

You sat up straight, taking a deep breath. “You mean when will I stop with my foolishness?” Mingyu nodded. You purse your lips. “Maybe when I’m done with UP. When I’m done with UP, I’ll graduate from everything—including him. Especially him.”

When you got back to your shared room with Jungkook and Mingyu, you were already tipsy. You almost fell face flat on the floor when you opened the door, feeling lightheaded, but luckily, your best friend was there to catch you.

“You’re drunk, Sola,” Jungkook chuckled deeply. You could smell his expensive cologne—the one you bought for him for his birthday last year and it brought a huge grin on your face, knowing he wore it. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine, Guk. I’m not that drunk. But I do need to sit down,” you said followed by a set of giggles as you let Jungkook walk you to the bed you shared with Mingyu, and then you threw yourself on it, back against the mattress, arms spread like an eagle.

Jungkook sat down beside you. “Are you still mad at me?”

The question seemed to sober you up instantly. The truth was—you could never stay mad at him. For anything. Sometimes, you’d think he could do the most painful and hurtful thing to you, deliberately, and you would still forgive him even if he wouldn’t apologize.

“I wasn’t mad. I was just… I just wished you would’ve told me the real reason why you wanted to come here,” you replied softly, biting your lower lip.

“Would you have come? If I told you I wanted to go here because my ex wanted to reconnect—would you have come?” Jungkook matched your tone, looking over his shoulder to look at you.

Instinctively, your eyes also darted towards his. The lights in the room were dim, only the lamp, the light coming beneath the bathroom door, and the moonlight outside illuminated the room. Jungkook looked especially beautiful in the dim light—long black wavy hair all messy from his habit of running his fingers through it, hooded eyes staring at you like he was memorizing every inch of you, the gentleness of his features made him look like an angel in this light.

But then you’d see his dozens of piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and lower lip; his tattooed arm and hand, and the way he looked sexy as hell with his thin white long sleeved, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and his white beach shorts that hugged his strong muscular thighs, and you’d realize he was more of a Greek god than an angel.

“I’ll go wherever you go,” you told him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You know that.”

Jungkook lied down beside you and you felt your heartbeat racing. His tattooed arm was brushing against yours. His head was tilted, close to yours.

“Will you go with me to the moon?” he asked.

A small smile ghosted on your lips. “I will, Guk.”

“How about Saturn?”

“I’ll be with you there, too.”

“Law school?”

You turned your head to him. He was already looking at you. “Law school? Why?”

He brushed the hair on your face aside with his fingers, making you tense. But you kept your composure. “I passed UP LAE.”

“But,” you began. “What about film? I thought you didn’t wanna become a lawyer like your parents.”

Jungkook looked at the ceiling. “It’s not that bad. Being a lawyer. Besides, I like studying.”

“You’ve always wanted to become a director, though.”

“I’m not good enough for it,” Jungkook scoffed. “All my batchmates are already directing their films and showing them at festivals here and abroad—yet here I am. Still here.”

You turned on your side, propping your elbow to support your head as you looked at your best friend. It was rare for Jungkook to open up. Even to you. He was always someone who kept all his innermost thoughts and feelings to himself. In the seven years you’d known him, it still felt like there was a wall around him that you never managed to climb on or punch through. For seven years, it felt like you simultaneously knew everything and nothing about your best friend.

“It’s not the end of the road, Jungkook. So what if they’re showing their films at festivals? You can do it too. At your own pace, in your own time,” you said. You wanted to reach for his face, to make him look at you, but you were scared. “You’re a great filmmaker, Guk. The best direk ever.”

He looked at you once again. “You’re drunk, Yu Sola. Go to sleep.”

He sat up, carrying your legs over the bed. You let out a groan. “I’m not drunk, Jeon Jungkook. Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, chuckling.

“You always cut the conversation when you’re beginning to open up. You always clamp up, Guk. I wish you didn’t do that. I’m your—,” you bit the inside of your lower lip. What right did I have to demand him to open up to me? “I’m your best friend.”

“I don’t clamp up. I just have nothing else to say,” your best friend replied with a shrug, fixing his hair as he looked in the mirror across from your bed. “Go to sleep. You’ll get a massive headache tomorrow. I’m just going to meet with Areum and her friends.”

Then, you blurted it out. It just happened. You didn’t even know how. You always had this grand idea in your mind to do it after the graduation ceremony, that way, you could immediately leave. That way, you didn’t have to see him all the time. You would have enough time to move on and move forward in your life.

But nothing in life truly went according to plan.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you confessed. Your heart felt heavy and you sat up, head hanging low as you picked on your nails. Tears were beginning to form in your eyes. “I’ve loved you for seven years now.”

And you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. Then, moments later, you felt your hands being taken away from your face. You lifted your head and saw Jungkook kneeling in front of you, holding your hands. He let one go to wipe away the tears on your face, to tuck your hair behind your ear.

And then, ever so slowly, Jungkook leaned in and kissed you softly. A tear rolled down your cheek. His lips were soft while yours were chapped and wet from your tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were still in shock. This was not the response you expected. Not even in your wildest dreams but it was happening.

Jungkook held your face, tilting his head as he continued to kiss you more—only this time with more need and passion. Your body reacted. You began to reciprocate his kisses, hands wrapping around his wrists. He tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash.

He pushed you onto the bed, one hand remaining on your face while the other held your waist. Your fingers curled the ends of his hair. You could feel his growing member on your stomach and feeling it was enough to make your cunt wet. His lips then traveled on your jaw, down to your neck. You were breathing heavily as he nibbled on your sensitive skin, making a soft moan escape your lips.

His hand made its way under your shirt and your breath hitched, causing Jungkook to lift his head from your neck, and look you in the eyes.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled, making your heart skip a beat. “Is it okay if I take this off now?”

“I—,” you were at a loss for words. Was this really happening? It seemed too good to be true. But it was happening and you wanted it more than anything else. “Okay. Yes, you can.”

Jungkook peeled your shirt off, exposing your naked chest. You didn’t wear bras; found it too much of a hassle and you always hated the feeling. Instead, you wore nipple tapes.

“What are these, Sola?” Jungkook asked with a chuckle, making your cheeks heat up.

“They’re nipple tapes, you dumb ass,” you replied, smacking his arm lightly.

“Okay. Do I just take them off, like, tape?”

He was adorably cute. “Yes, you just take them off like tape.”

And so he did just that. The coolness of the room and your arousal instantly perked your nipples. Jungkook took your breasts in his hands, massaging and squeezing them, making you arch your back ever so slightly. Then, he dipped his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth while remaining to massage the other.

The sensation was simply divine. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system, your feelings for your best friend, or just Jungkook in general that made you feel so good at that moment. Your hands traced the outline of his toned biceps through his thin polo.

You were so wet and when Jungkook began to grind his hard cock against your clothed cunt, you felt another wave of wetness. You wanted him—all of him—and so you began to rock your hips against him, making him release a moan.

He lifted his head, staring at you with those doe eyes you have loved for seven years. “Are you sure?”

Those three words held so much. Once you crossed the line, there was no going back, and both of you knew that.

“I’m sure. I want this, Guk. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear to make love to you the whole night. Once both of you came, Jungkook laid beside you, chest heaving. For a while, the both of you lay in silence.

“Will you be here in the morning?” you asked, turning your head on the pillow to face him.

He did the same. “I will,” he promised. “Go to sleep now, Sola.”

But he wasn’t.

When you woke up the next day, the other side of the bed was empty. You sat up, burying your face in your hands. What the hell have I done? What the hell have we done?

You left the bed, entering the bathroom, and proceeding to take a shower. In there, you cried, because nothing was going to be the same after last night. You couldn’t blame it all on Jungkook either. You also made it happen. You desperately wished it was just a dream—another wet dream you had of your best friend—but the traces of his cum were still on your inner thigh.

It happened. There was no going back. Everything was going to be different now and most of all, you didn’t know if you still had your best friend.

When you finished showering and getting dressed, you made your way down to the beach. You had texted Mingyu while getting dressed and he told you he was there with the chinito you saw him with, Wonwoo. Arriving at the beach, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket, about to text the honey-skinned med student when you saw Jungkook with Areum in the water, his strong arms that held you throughout the night, now wrapped around her waist. Fits of giggles escaped her lips as Jungkook wrestled with her in the water, a huge grin on his handsome face.

Your heart shattered.

You quickly looked away, a fresh set of tears forming in your eyes. As you were about to turn away, you heard Mingyu’s familiar voice which caused you to stop on your tracks.

“Sola, hey, there you—what’s wrong?” The concern in his voice was palpable. You felt his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him.

“I—I finally told him, Gyu,” you said, taking in a sharp shaky breath. “I finally told him.”

Mingyu didn’t ask for more details. He knew. He led you back to your room, promising Wonwoo to text him later. Once you were back, you just cried on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything and neither did you. He just let you be until the tears finally stopped.

“I’m sorry I pulled you away from Wonwoo. He seems like a nice guy,” you said after a while, voice raspy from all the crying.

“It’s fine. We’ll be seeing each other often anyway,” Mingyu shared.

You looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

Your friend nodded, laughing to himself. “You know, all those times I teased you about your being a hopeless romantic and believing in love—I think it’s backfiring on me now with Wonwoo.”

“You love him?” you asked.

“I don’t know, Sola. But I know what I feel for him is different,” he answered. “It’s terrifying. How quickly someone can change your perspective on something.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“What’s your plan now?” Mingyu asked.

You sighed deeply. “I think I’m going to head back. My graduation is tomorrow anyway. Do you mind booking the bus ride home?”

“I’m staying here, Sola. I—I want to be with Wonwoo more,” Mingyu confessed, smiling at you apologetically.

“Gyu…”

“Please be a friend to me now, Sola.”

You pressed your lips tightly. Then, you nodded. You wanted your friend to be happy.

“I’m gonna pack now,” you announced.

“Okay. Just text me if you need anything,” Mingyu gave you a hug and kiss on top of your head. “I want you to know I’m proud of you, Sola.”

Once Mingyu left, you began to pack. You didn’t bring a lot of clothes, but you were still biding your time. A part of you didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay here and never graduate. But that illusion was quickly broken when you saw your mom’s contact flashing on your phone screen.

You sucked your teeth before answering, “Hi mom.”

“Sola? Where the hell are you? Why haven’t you been answering my texts? Your graduation is tomorrow. Everyone is looking forward to it!” she exclaimed frantically.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m in La Union with Jungkook and—,”

“What the hell are you doing in La Union?! You better get back instantly, Sola. I’m not kidding. If you don’t graduate now, I really don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s been seven years! Please let me graduate too.”

“I’m already packing and I’ll catch the bus home soon. I just—Mom, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it in time for the ceremony ‘cos—,”

Your phone was suddenly snatched from your grip. You looked up and saw Jungkook standing beside you.

“Hey tita, it’s Jungkook. Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll take her home. She’ll make it in time. Yes. We’ll be home before the ceremony, tita. Okay. Bye.”

He ended the call and sat down on the bed across from you, handing you your phone back. You grabbed it from him. “You don’t have to take me home.”

“I already promised tita I will,” he answered.

“You didn’t have to,” you muttered, folding your shirt.

Silence. Jungkook was just staring at you the entire time as you folded your clothes and packed them inside your bag. Then, he said those two words.

“I’m sorry.”

You bit the inside of your lower lip. What was he exactly for? For having sex with you? For spending the night with you? For not feeling the same way as you? All of the above?

As if reading your thoughts, he added, “For everything.”

You nodded. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” you told him. “It’s not your fault you don’t love me the same way.” But why did you kiss me? Why did you make love to me?

Jungkook lowered his head. You zipped your bag. “Let’s go. I still have a graduation to chase.”

“What’s this?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed when you saw Areum standing beside Jungkook’s car with her luggage and bag.

“I’ll drop Areum on the way,” Jungkook announced, grabbing her luggage and putting it at the back of his car.

You pressed your lips in a line. “Fine.” You stepped into the back passenger seat, quickly grabbing your phone and earphones from your bag, and plugging it in.

Lowering yourself on the seat, you rested your head against the window as Areum stepped into the passenger seat while Jungkook sat on the driver’s seat. You caught him glancing at you from the corner of your eyes, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you turned the volume up. Moments later, he began to drive.

You decided to sleep the entire ride. However, when you woke up, you immediately realized Jungkook wasn’t driving in your hometown. “Where are we?” you asked, taking one of your earphones off.

“I’m dropping Areum first,” Jungkook replied.

You frowned. “I’m the one chasing a graduation, remember?”

“Shh, just go back to sleep. Here,” he threw something at you—your favorite candy, Butterball, landing on your lap.

You grabbed it, tempted to eat it, but you threw it back at him and went back to sleep. By the time you woke up again, you were at Areum’s house. She turned to look at you, smiling.

She was really beautiful and kind. You began to feel guilty for hating her so much the entire time. “Congrats on your graduation, Sola. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Thanks Areum.”

After Jungkook walked her to her door, he came back to the car. “What are you doing there? Come here,” he said, patting the passenger seat.

“I’m fine here,” you replied.

“Sola, come on. Please? I drive better with you beside me.”

For the rest of the ride to your home, you sat beside Jungkook. Unlike before, where your car rides were filled with music and random conversations, tonight it was silent. You didn’t plug your phone into his stereo and you kept your eyes closed the whole time, listening to your music. Once in a while, Jungkook would try to make small talk, but you would only give him short replies, then went back to sleeping.

When you arrived at your family house, you stayed with Jungkook outside for a bit, both leaning against his car.

“It’s your graduation in four hours.”

“Are you not going to come to yours?”

“I don’t see the point,” Jungkook replied.

You nodded and pushed yourself off his car. “I’ll head inside. Thanks for the ride, Jungkook.”

He grabbed your arm before you entered the gate. You stared into his eyes. You couldn’t quite place what held them right now. Maybe you never really knew Jeon Jungkook after all this time.

“I’m sorry, Sola.”

“Why do you keep saying sorry? I told you—it’s not your fault and I’m fine. I’m over it now. See you around, Jungkook.”

You head back inside. Graduation was in four hours.

You wore a traditional Filipiniana dress, a pair of white heels that were already scraping the skin at the back of your feet, your mother’s pearls, and your sablay when your name was called. You came up on the stage with your excited mother, shook hands with your Dean, and finally grabbed your diploma. You always imagined graduation to be something so spectacular, but the moment you received the piece of paper that confirmed you had, indeed, graduated—you just felt the same.

After the ceremony, you went back to your house where almost all your relatives from your mother’s side were waiting for you. A tarpaulin with your graduation picture and the words, “Congratulations Yu Sola!” printed on it and hung outside your gate. You greeted everyone on your way, telling them thanks, before retreating in your room to change out of your dress and into more comfortable clothes.

While you were slipping on your shirt, your phone buzzed on your nightstand. When you grabbed it, you saw Jungkook’s message on the lockscreen.

Let’s go, it said.

You knew it meant one thing: a beer and butterball at Route 96. There was still a part of you that wanted to go because you always went when you received a message like that from Jungkook. It was always a yes when it came to him. But now that you confessed, something shifted, whether he admitted to it himself or not.

So, you put your phone in your pocket, and went down. But as you do so, you felt your phone vibrate again. You pulled it out of your pocket and Jungkook texted you another message.

Please? One for the road. I’m outside.

You bit your lower lip. Then, you made your way out. There, you saw Jungkook wearing his barong and sablay, leaning against his car like hours ago. He smiled as soon as he saw you come out.

“You still have it,” he pointed to your shirt.

You looked down on it and realized you had picked his shirt of all things. It wasn’t anything special; just something he bought at a boutique. But it meant a lot to you because he gave it to you after you spilled beer on your shirt years ago.

“You attended your ceremony?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. He nodded. “I thought you didn’t see the point.”

“I changed my mind.”

You wished you were just as quick in having a change of heart.

“One for the road?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “One for the road.”

“Shit, I forgot it’s Sunday. It’s closed,” Jungkook sighed, seeing the steel gate at Route 96.

“It’s fine. Let’s just go,” you told him, grabbing the beer he bought beforehand and making your way up to the bar. Jungkook followed behind.

You both leaned in the railing before you, beer in hands. Another silence.

You couldn’t believe this was the culmination of the seven years you spent loving Jeon Jungkook. You thought, after confessing, you would never speak again. He’d distance himself from you but here you were—having a beer with him at your favorite place in the world. You wished you knew what was going on in his mind right now. You wished you could dissect his mind and learn every thought he had ever since you confessed.

Because you never really knew Jeon Jungkook. You were just so in love with him and idealized who he was over the last seven years. Suddenly, all the stupid memories you shared with Mingyu flashed in your mind and made you laugh.

“What’s funny?” Jungkook asked, chuckling.

You shook your head, drinking your beer. “Nothing.”

He nudged your side. “Come on, share it.”

You took a deep breath and for the first time, you looked at Jeon Jungkook and saw him for who he was; not the man you have loved for the past seven years.

“I graduated, finally.”

↪˚ author’s note: if you want to donate to me via kofi or gcash <33 i would appreciate it a lot. thank you & see you in more fics later on.

↪˚ permanent taglist: @whoa-jo @kookieandjoonberries

#jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fics #bts x reader #bts x oc #bts fanfic #bts fics #jungkook filo au #bts filo au #jungkook smut

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anakinstwinklebunny · 2 months ago

Text

PAIRING: dilf!mafia!anakin x younger!f!reader

PART ONE; 1,924 words

author's note: I recommend listening to this song while reading this. It really inspired me and gave me further ideas on how to continue this story (it's very important that it will be this version‼️‼️)

You didn’t really know your life.

Yes, when your fingertips traced over each covered photo, some thread of familiarity tugged at you—but it was always fog, always out of reach. A smile in the background, eyes filled with warmth as they gazed at yours, arms linked with yours like they belonged there, you clearly laughing with…right..Who? There were no names, no voices. Just a dark, hollow void without any meaning.

So who were you?

If ANAKIN SKWALKER saw the soft furrow of your brow, the way your lips parted like you were chasing a memory, he’d always step in.

“It’s okay,” he’d say softly, brushing your hair behind your ear with calloused fingers. “It was a long time ago. Some things just... fade.”

And when you asked about someone in a photo, he’d give you answers. Not lies. Not really. Just… altered truths.

“Oh, they moved to another city. Must’ve changed their number.”

“He took a job in Vietnam—said the future was better there.”

“She…” He'd pause, watching your eyes with that devastating softness. “She died, sweetheart. Two years ago. Car accident.”

You remembered her voice, but it was faint, melodic. A song you couldn’t place. A face that made your chest ache. But why? You had no idea. When you tried to dig deeper, when you pressed your mind for the details—it shut down. A black hole. A Panic. Silence.

Still, Anakin was calm. He never got angry with you for not remembering much. He just pulled you closer. Told you you were safe. And you believed him. Because with him, you felt safe.

Even if you didn’t know why.

Who were you?

The question echoed in your bones. Clawed at the inside of your skull like a scream that had nowhere to go.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” the voice cut through the haze, soft yet sharp. Like velvet over a dagger. His gaze caught yours in the mirror—icy, unreadable for you

You blinked. Forced a small smile. Smoothed the red satin over your thighs. “Nothing. Just..my head... playing tricks again.”

His expression faltered. Coldness slipped in. Something else, too—fear, maybe. You couldn't really tell. Reading emotions wasnt your greatest talent. Or maybe was it simply possession? Or that darkness you weren’t supposed to see?

You swallowed.

“I mean… maybe it’s just the weird girl that bumped into me earlier,” you added quickly, laughing too softly, too nervously. “I did tell you about her, didn’t I?”

His jaw twitched. Just a little.

The wind kissed your skin as you walked, soft, a little chilled. It felt like it was forcing itself against you, like it was trying to stop you. Like it knew something you didn’t. Like it tried to stop you from making a deadly mistake

Your scarf danced in the breeze, catching in the air like a ballerina. You didn’t notice much of the possible 'warnings' the weather was forcefully pushing towards you. You were already crossing the street, already pushing through the heavy doors of the boutique Anakin told you about.

He rarely let you go out alone.

“It’s not safe, sweetheart,” he’d say, brushing your cheek with gentle fingers, voice calm yet firm. “People out there… they’d do anything for what they want.”

You never questioned it. Not when he knew your moods before you did. Not when he always knew your location, your thoughts, your fears. It felt… right. Like he deserved to know all of those things.

The shop welcomed you with warm lighting, elegant displays, and too-bright smiles.

Too perfect. Too rehearsed.

You wandered through the aisles, fingertips brushing over fabrics you knew Anakin would like—deep crimsons, rich navy blues, colors that made your skin glow and your heart beat up a littlte faster from the excitement. From imagining him simply being breathtaken over your beauty. But the dresses your eyes caught made you feel… familiar. Like maybe you’d once worn them before. Like maybe you’d been someone else once. Like you were here before

But the second you tried to chase that memory—

Blackness. Emptiness; like falling into a hole with no end, no floor, no past.

You barely noticed the eyes on you. At first. Until it felt like they were sinking into your skin. Until the back of your neck prickled. Until the red dress in your hand felt like it was soaked in blood.

“Y/N?”

Your heart froze. Familiar tone; familiar melodic voice. You turned slowly.

Blonde. Familiar eyes. Average frame. But something about her face hit you with a shiver of déjà vu. You knew her. Somehow. Somewhen.

“I thought you were dead,” she breathed, eyes wide. “We thought you were dead.”

We? Who were we? After all, Anakin knew you were alive. He dropped you off. He told you—

“I—I'm sorry… I don’t… I don’t know who you are.”

The girl blinked. Scoffed. A paint of hurt crossed her edges; like the words cut her deeper than you could understood.

“Now you don’t remember me? After everything?”

She stepped closer. You stepped back. Something itched under your skin. A bone-deep discomfort.

Fear. So familiar, so foreign.

“You disappeared. No word, no message, no call. Nothing. We searched for you. Benji went crazy after you vanished.”

You could barely breathe.

Your palms were slick. Your throat suddenly dry.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” you whispered, holding the dress like it could somehow anchor you. “I—I don’t remember… anything like that.”

She looked at you like you were a stranger, like she wanted to slap the truth back into you

“I’m sorry,” you said again, trying to be polite. Trying to calm the storm building behind your ribs. “I’ve had… memory issues. After my car accident. Maybe we could talk sometime? Grab a coffee? You clearly know me and I—”

“What accident?” her voice was ice. "I’ve never seen you in a car. You hate them. Ever since your dad killed your mom in one.”

Your heart stopped.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink.

Images—feelings, connection —something flickered in the back of your mind. Screams. Metal. Blood. Rain on glass. A woman’s voice. A man shouting. And nothing again.

Pain. Real pain bloomed in your chest.

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” she smiled then. But it wasn’t kind. Her gaze fell from your face down to your toes, going right back at your new hair, expensive jewelry, clothes, shoes, dress dress dress “Well, at least its good to know one of us are living their best lifes. Enjoy the princess fantasy while it lasts, Y/N. Because everything—everything—comes to an end.”

After the last words died in your throat, giving birth to a scared, still-shocked breath, you dared to look at him.

Maybe that was your mistake.

Because his eyes—those eyes you once thought held the sky in them—looked at you like he didn't see you at all. Like he was staring right through your skin, straight to something else. Something you didn't even know existed inside you. Cold. Dangerous. Like meeting a devil in the skin of someone you thought loved you. A chill wrapped itself around your spine, squeezed, stayed there. You knew those eyes from somewhere, from another life, another reality—but now they were foreign. Empty of softness.

Your hands began to sweat again. Just like they had earlier, with that girl. Your palms clammy, clutching onto the soft cherry crimson material like it was some short of a lifeline.

For a second—just a split moment—you thought maybe he was mad. Maybe this was what the beginning of his fury looked like. Not screaming. Not throwing things. Just… silence. Cold and echoing and sharp as broken glass under bare feet. And all you could think about was how he always warned you. How he told you the world out there wasn’t holy anymore, how people had ripped the wings off angels and dressed up as gods. That they’d hurt you, take you from him, corrupt you into something you weren’t. He told you he saved you. That he saved you from them. That only he knew the truth. And you believed him. You had to.

...Or did you?

His voice cracked through the air like thunder in a quiet chapel. “Did she say anything else?”

You flinched. Just a tiny jerk of the shoulder. Barely noticeable—but not to him. Your eyes dropped. Your throat felt like it was being squeezed by invisible hands. Pressure pushing and pushing until the breath left you entirely. Something whispered in your head again. Softly. Distant.

Protection. Love. Sacrifice. Adoration. Beauty.

You swallowed.

“I—I don’t think so,” you whispered. It wasn’t even a lie. Not really. Just a safer version of the truth. “I’m sorry.” The words came out without a thought. Like muscle memory. Your lips just moved and there it was, hanging between you two. Sorry for being outside. Sorry for being seen. Sorry for not remembering—or for remembering just enough to ruin everything.

He moved. Not fast. Not slow either. The sound of his footsteps felt louder than they should’ve been against the black tile, echoing like something from a dream you didn’t want to remember. Fingers touched your arm—warm, soft, reverent. Like worship. Thumb stroked your skin with the kind of care that should have comforted you, but instead made your stomach twist into knots you couldn’t untangle. Lips brushed your ear, your neck, with breath so warm it almost melted the ice building in your chest. And through the mirror, his eyes found yours again.

“Remember the story I told you? About the people who look like everyone else, but they’re not? Monsters don’t grow horns, sweetheart. They smile. They lie. They plant things in your head and wait for you to rot.”

You nodded slowly. Like a puppet on a string.

His lips pressed another kiss to your skin, soft, slow "She’s one of them,” he whispered, as if mourning her. As if mourning you. "She wanted to twist you, baby. Make you believe lies. She wanted to take what we have and burn it. Right here—” his hand moved, finger trailing slowly up your stomach, until it pressed against your chest. Your heart thudded against his fingertip. “—right in your heart. She wanted to plant seeds of doubt in it. Let them grow. Let them ruin you.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. "But… Ani, I knew her. I knew her from somewhere. I’m sure I did…”

His entire body tensed behind you, just for a second. His hand never left your heart, but his voice dipped—lower, darker. “And that’s what evil does, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It makes you think it’s familiar. That’s how it gets in. That’s how it breaks you.” he kissed your shoulder. Gentle. Steady. Like a vow whispered to your skin. "I won’t let that happen. I’d burn the whole world before I let anyone take you.”

You nodded.

Because what else could you possibly do?

Yet the doubt… it was already inside you. Curling into your bones like smoke. And even though his touch still made your body flush with warmth, you couldn’t stop thinking—

Was it all completely true? And who the hell was that girl?

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